DE WITT TALMAGE 

AS I KNEW HIM 




REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D. 



T. DE WITT TALMAGE 

AS I KNEW HIM 



EY THE LATE 

T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D. 

WITH CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BY 

MRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 



NEW YORK : 
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 
1912 



/ 



CONTENTS 



FIRST MILESTONE 

SECOND MILESTONE 

THIRD MILESTONE 

FOURTH MILESTONE 

FIFTH MILESTONE 

SIXTH MILESTONE 

SEVENTH MILESTONE 

EIGHTH MILESTONE 

NINTH MILESTONE 

TENTH MILESTONE 

ELEVENTH MILESTONE 

TWELFTH MILESTONE 

THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 

FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 

FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 

SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 

SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HIS LAST MILESTONES- 
FIRST MILESTONE 

SECOND MILESTONE 

THIRD MILESTONE 

LAST MILESTONE 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D Frontispiece 

DAVID AND CATHERINE TALMAGE— PARENTS 

OF DR. T. DE WITT TALMAGE to face page 4 

DR. TALMAGE IN HIS FIRST CHURCH, BELLE- 
VILLE, NEW JERSEY „ „ 26 

DR. TALMAGE AS CHAPLAIN OF THE THIR- 
TEENTH REGIMENT OF NEW YORK . . '.. „ „ 221 V 

THE THIRD BROOKLYN TABERNACLE . . . . „ „ 252 

THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, WASH- 
INGTON D.C „ „ 296 

DR. AND MRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE .. .. „ 312 

FACSIMILE OF PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S 

LETTER „ „ 398 



PREFACE 



I write this story of my life, first of all for my 
children. How much would I now give for a full 
account of my father's life written by his own 
hand ! That which merely goes from lip to ear is 
apt to be soon forgotten. The generations move 
on so rapidly that events become confused. I 
said to my son, " Do you remember that time in 
Philadelphia, during the war, when I received a 
telegram saying several hundred wounded soldiers 
would arrive next day, and we suddenly extem- 
porised a hospital and all turned in to the help 
of the suffering soldiers ? " My son's reply was, 
" My memory of that occurrence is not very 
distinct, as it took place six years before I was 
born." The fact is that we think our children 
know many things concerning which they know 
nothing at all. 

But, outside my own family, I am sure that there 
are many who would like to read about what I 
have been doing, thinking, enjoying, and hoping 
all these years ; for through the publication of 
my entire Sermons, as has again and again been 
demonstrated, I have been brought into contact 
with the minds of more people, and for a longer 
time, than most men. This I mean not in boast, 
but as a reason for thinking that this auto- 
biography may have some attention outside 



viii 



PREFACE 



of my own circle, and I mention it also in 
gratitude to God, Who has for so long a time 
given me this unlimited and almost miraculous 
opportunity. 

Each life is different from every other life. 
God never repeats Himself, and He never intended 
two men to be alike, or two women to be alike, or 
two children to be alike. This infinite variety of 
character and experience makes the story of any 
life interesting, if that story be clearly and 
accurately told. 

I am now in the full play of my faculties, and 
without any apprehension of early departure, not 
having had any portents, nor seen the moon over 
my left shoulder, nor had a salt-cellar upset, nor 
seen a bat fly into the window, nor heard a 
cricket chirp from the hearth, nor been one of 
thirteen persons at a table. But my common 
sense, and the family record, and the almanac tell 
me it must be " towards evening." 



T. DE WITT TALMAGE 

AS I KNEW HIM 



FIRST MILESTONE 

1832—1845 

Our family Bible, in the record just between the 
Old and the New Testaments, has this entry : 
" Thomas DeWitt, Born January 7, 1832." I was 
the youngest of a family of twelve children, all of 
whom lived to grow up except the first, and she 
was an invalid child. 

I was the child of old age. My nativity, I am 
told, was not heartily welcomed, for the family 
was already within one of a dozen, and the 
means of support were not superabundant. I 
arrived at Middlebrook, New Jersey, while my 
father kept the toll-gate, at which business the 
older children helped him, but I was too small to 
be of service. I have no memory of residence 
there, except the day of departure, and that only 
emphasised by the fact that we left an old cat 
which had purred her way into my affections, and 
separation from her was my first sorrow, so far as 
I can remember. 

In that home at Middlebrook, and in the few 
years after, I went through the entire curriculum 
of infantile ailments. The first of these was scarlet 



B 



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2 THE FIRST MILESTONE 

fever, which so nearly consummated its fell work 
on me that I was given up by the doctors as 
doomed to die, and, according to custom in those 
times in such a case, my grave clothes were com- 
pleted, the neighbours gathering for that purpose. 
During those early years I took such a large share 
of epidemics that I have never been sick since with 
anything worthy of being called illness. I never 
knew or heard of anyone who has had such re- 
markable and unvarying health as I have had, 
and I mention it with gratitude to God, in whose 
" hand our breath is, and all our ways." 

The " grippe," as it is called, touched me at 
Vienna when on my way from the Holy Land, but 
I felt it only half a day, and never again since. 

I often wonder what has become of our old 
cradle in which all of us children were rocked ! 
We were a large family, and that old cradle was 
going a good many years. I remember just how 
it looked. It was old-fashioned and had no 
tapestry. Its two sides and canopy were of plain 
wood, but there was a great deal of sound sleeping 
in that cradle, and many aches and pains were 
soothed in it. Most vividly I remember that the 
rockers, which came out from under the cradle, 
were on the top and side very smooth, so smooth 
that they actually glistened. But it went right 
on and rocked for Phoebe the first, and for DeWitt 
the last. 

There were no lords or baronets or princes in 
our ancestral line. None wore stars, cockade, or 
crest. There was once a family coat-of-arms, but 
we were none of us wise enough to tell its meaning. 
Do our best, we cannot find anything about our 
forerunners except that they behaved well, came 
over from Wales or Holland a good while ago, and 
died when their time came. Some of them may 
have had fine equipages and postilions, but the most 



MY PARENTS 



8 



of them were sure only of footmen. My father 
started in life belonging to the aristocracy of hard 
knuckles and homespun, but had this high honour 
that no one could despise : he was the son of a 
father who loved God and kept His commandments. 
Two eyes, two hands, and two feet were the 
capital my father started with. 

Benignity, kindness, keen humour, broad com- 
mon sense and industry characterised my mother. 
The Reverend Dr. Chambers was for many years 
her pastor. He had fifty years of pastorate service, 
in Somerville, N.J., and the Collegiate Church, 
New York. He said, in an address at the dedi- 
cation of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, that my mother 
was the most consecrated Christian person he had 
ever known. My mother worked very hard, and 
when we would come in and sit down at the table at 
noon, I remember how she used to look. There 
were beads of perspiration along the line of her 
grey hair, and sometimes she would sit down at 
the table, and put her head against her wrinkled 
hand and say, " Well, the fact is, I'm too tired 
to eat." 

My father was a religious, hard-working, honest 
man. Every day began and closed with family 
worship, led by my father, or, in case of his 
absence, by Mother. That which wasjevidently 
uppermost in the minds of my parents, and that 
which was the most pervading principle in their 
lives, was the Christian religion. The family 
Bible held a perfect fascination for me, not a page 
that was not discoloured either with time or tears. 
My parents read out of it as long as I can remem- 
ber. When my brother Van Nest died in a 
foreign land, and the news came to our country 
home, that night they read the eternal consolations 
out of the old book. When my brother David died 
that book comforted the old people in their 



/ 



4 THE FIRST MILESTONE 

trouble. My father in mid-life, fifteen years an 
invalid, out of that book read of the ravens that 
fed Elijah all through the hard struggle for bread. 
When my mother died that book illumined the 
dark valley. In the years that followed of lone- 
liness, it comforted my father with the thought of 
reunion, w T hich took place afterward in Heaven. 

To the wonderful conversion of my grandfather 
and grandmother, in those grand old days of our 
declaration of independence, I trace the whole 
purpose, trend, and energies of my life. I have 
told the story of the conversion of my grandfather 
and grandmother before. I repeat it here, for my 
children. 

My grandfather and grandmother went from 
Somerville to Baskenridge to attend revival 
meetings under the ministry of Dr. Finney. They 
were so impressed with the meetings that when 
they came back to Somerville they were seized 
upon by a great desire for the salvation of their 
children. That evening the children were going 
off for a gay party, and my grandmother said to 
the children, " When you get all ready for the 
entertainment, come into my room ; I have some- 
thing very important to tell you." After they 
were all ready they came into my grandmother's 
room, and she said to them, " Go and have a good 
time, but while you are gone I want you to know 
I am praying for you and will do nothing but pray 
for you until you get back." They did not enjoy 
the entertainment much because they thought all 
the time of the fact that Mother was praying for 
them. The evening passed. The next day my 
grandparents heard sobbing and crying in the 
daughter's room, and they went in and found 
her praying for the salvation of God, and her 
daughter Phcebe said, " I wish you would 
go to the barn and to the waggon-house 



MY PARENTS' CONVERSION 5 



for Jehiel and David (the brothers) are under 
powerful conviction of sin." My grandparent 
went to the barn, and Jehiel, who afterward 
became a useful minister of the Gospel, was 
imploring the mercy of Christ; and then, 
having first knelt with him and commended his 
soul to Christ, they went to the waggon-house, 
and there was David crying for the salvation of 
his soul — David, who afterward became my 
father. David could not keep the story to himself, 
and he crossed the fields to a farmhouse and told 
one to whom he had been affianced the story of 
his own salvation, and she yielded her heart to 
God. The story of the converted household 
went all through the neighbourhood. In a few 
weeks two hundred souls stood up in the plain 
meeting house at Somerville to profess faith in 
Christ, among them David and Catherine, after- 
ward my parents. 

My mother, impressed with that, in after life, 
when she had a large family of children gathered 
around her, made a covenant with three neigh- 
bours, three mothers. They would meet once a 
week to pray for the salvation of their children 
until all their children were converted — this inci- 
dent was not known until after my mother's death, 
the covenant then being revealed by one of the 
survivors. We used to say : " Mother, where are 
you going ? " and she would say, " I am just 
going out a little while ; going over to the neigh- 
bours." They kept on in that covenant until all 
their families were brought into the kingdom of 
God, myself the last, and I trace that line of 
results back to that evening when my grand- 
mother commended our family to Christ, the tide 
of influence going on until this hour, and it will 
never cease. 

My mother died in her seventy-sixth year. 



6 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



Through a long life of vicissitude she lived harm- 
lessly and usefully, and came to her end in peace. 
We had often heard her, when leading family 
prayers in the absence of my father, say, " 0 
Lord, I ask not for my children wealth or honour, 
but I do ask that they all may be the subjects of 
Thy converting grace." Her eleven children 
brought into the kingdom of God, she had but one 
more wish, and that was that she might see her 
long-absent missionary son, and when the ship 
from China anchored in New York harbour, and 
the long-absent one passed over the threshold of 
his paternal home, she said, " Lord, now lettest 
Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes 
have seen Thy salvation." The prayer was soon 
answered. 

My father, as long as I can remember, was an 
elder in churches. He conducted prayer-meetings 
in the country, when he was sometimes the only 
man to take part, giving out a hymn and leading 
the singing ; then reading the Scriptures and 
offering prayer ; then giving out another hymn 
and leading in that ; and then praying again ; 
and so continuing the meeting for the usual length 
of time, and with no lack of interest. 

When the church choir would break down, 
everybody looked around to see if he were not 
ready with "Woodstock," "Mount Pisgah " or 
" Uxbridge." And when all his familiar tunes 
failed to express the joy of his soul, he would take 
up his own pen, draw five long lines across the 
sheet, put in the notes, and then to the tune he 
called " Bound Brook," begin to sing : 

As when the weary traveller gains 

The height of some o'erlooking hill, 
His heart revives if 'cross the plains 

He eyes his home, though distant still ; 



MY FEARLESS FATHER 7 



Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views, 

By faith, his mansion in the skies, 
The sight his fainting strength renews, 

And wings his speed to reach the prize. 

'Tis there, he says, I am to dwell 

With Jesus in the realms of day ; 
There I shall bid my cares farewell 
And He will wipe my tears away. 

He knew about all the cheerful tunes that were 
ever printed in old " New Brunswick Collection," 
and the " Shunway," and the sweetest melodies 
that Thomas Hastings ever composed. He took 
the pitch of sacred song on Sabbath morning, and 
kept it through all the week. 

My father was the only person whom I ever 
knew without any element of fear. I do not 
believe he understood the sensation. 

Seated in a waggon one day during a runaway 
that every moment threatened our demolition, he 
was perfectly calm. He turned around to me, a 
boy of seven years, and said, " DeWitt, what are 
you crying about ? I guess we can ride as fast as 
they can run." 

There was one scene I remember, that showed 
his poise and courage as nothing else could. He 
was Sheriff of Somerset County, N.J., and we 
lived in the court house, attached to which was the 
County Jail. During my father's absence one day 
a prisoner got playing the maniac, dashing things 
to pieces, vociferating horribly, and flourishing a 
knife with which he had threatened to carve any 
one who came near the wicket of his prison. 
Constables were called in to quell this real or 
dramatised maniac, but they fell back in terror 
from the door of the prison. Their show of fire- 
arms made no impression upon the demented 
wretch. After awhile my father returned and was 
told of the trouble, and indeed he heard it before 



8 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



he reached home. The whole family implored 
him not to go near the man who was cursing, and 
armed with a knife. But father could not be 
deterred. He did not stand outside the door and 
at a safe distance, but took the key and opened the 
door, and without any weapon of defence came 
upon the man, thundering at him, " Sit down and 
give me that knife ! " The tragedy was ended. 
I never remember to have heard him make a 
gloomy remark. This was not because he had no 
perception of the pollutions of society. I once 
said to my father, " Are people so much worse 
now than they used to be ? " He made no answer 
for a minute, for the old people do not like to 
confess much to the boys. But after awhile his 
eye twinkled and he said : " Well, DeWitt, the 
fact is that people were never any better than 
they ought to be." 

Ours was an industrious home. I was brought 
up to regard laziness as an abominable disease. 
Though we were some years of age before we 
heard the trill of a piano, we knew well all about 
the song of " The Spinning- Wheel." 

Through how many thrilling scenes my father 
had passed ! He stood, at Morristown, in the choir 
that chanted when George Washington was 
buried ; talked with young men whose fathers he 
had held on his knee; watched the progress of 
John Adams's administration; denounced, at the 
time, Aaron Burr's infamy ; heard the guns that 
celebrated the New Orleans victory ; voted against 
Jackson, but lived long enough to wish we had 
another just like him ; remembered when the first 
steamer struck the North river with its wheel- 
buckets ; was startled by the birth of telegraphy ; 
saw the United States grow from a speck on the 
world's map till all nations dip their flag at our 
passing merchantmen. He was born while the 



MY BOYHOOD HOME 9 



Revolutionary cannon were coming home from 
Yorktown, and lived to hear the tramp of troops 
returning from the war of the great Rebellion. 
He lived to speak the names of eighty children, 
grand-children and great-grand-children. He 
died just three years from the day when my 
mother sped on. 

When my father lay dying the old country 
minister said to him, " Mr. Talmage, how do you 
feel now as you are about to pass the Jordan of 
death ? " He replied — and it was the last thing 
he ever said — " I feel well ; I feel very well ; all is 
well " — lifting his hand in a benediction, a speech- 
less benediction, which I pray God may go down 
through all the generations — " It is well ! " 

Four of his sons became ministers of the 
Gospel : Reverend James R. Talmage, D.D., who 
was preaching before I was bom, and who died in 
1879 ; Reverend John Van Nest Talmage, D.D., 
who spent his life as a missionary in China, and 
died in the summer of 1892 ; Reverend Goyn 
Talmage, D.D., who after doing a great work for 
God, died in 1891. But all my brothers and sisters 
were decidedly Christian, lived usefully and died 
peacefully. 

I rejoice to remember that though my father 
lived in a plain house the most of his days, he 
died in a mansion provided by the filial piety of 
his son who had achieved a fortune. 

The house at Gateville, near Bound Brook, in 
which I was born, has gone down. Not one stone 
has been left upon another. I one day picked up 
a fragment of the chimney, or wall, and carried it 
home. But the home that I associate with my 
childhood was about three miles from Somerville, 
N.J. The house, the waggon-shed, the barn, are 
now just as I remember them from childhood days. 
It was called " Uncle John's Place " from the fact 



10 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



that my mother's uncle, John Van Nest, owned it, 
and from him my father rented it "on shares." 
Here I rode the horse to brook. Here I hunted 
for and captured Easter eggs. Here the natural 
world made its deepest impression on me. Here 
I learned some of the fatigues and hardships of 
the farmer's life — not as I felt them, but as my 
father and mother endured them. Here my 
brother Daniel brought home his bride. From 
here I went to the country school. Here in the 
evening the family were gathered, mother knitting 
or sewing, father vehemently talking politics or 
religion with some neighbour not right on the 
subject of the tariff, or baptism, and the rest of 
us reading or listening. All the group are gone 
except my sister Catherine and myself. 

My childhood, as I look back upon it, is to me 
a mystery. While I always possessed a keen sense 
of the ludicrous, and a hearty appreciation of fun 
of all sorts, there was a sedate side of my nature 
that demonstrated itself to the older members of 
the family, and of which they often spoke. For 
half days, or whole days, at a time I remember 
sitting on a small footstool beside an ordinary 
chair on which lay open " Scott's Commen- 
taries on the Bible." I not only read the Scrip- 
tures out of this book, but long discourses of 
Thomas Scott, and passages adjoining. I could 
not have understood much of these profound and 
elaborate commentaries. They were not written 
or printed for children, but they had for my 
childish mind a fascination that kept me from 
play, and from the ordinary occupations of 
persons of my years. 

So, also, it was with the religious literature of 
the old-fashioned kind, with which some of the 
tables of my father's house were piled. Indeed, 
when afterwards I was living at my brothers' 



EARLY RELIGIOUS TENDENCIES 11 



house, he a clergyman, I read through and through 
and through the four or five volumes of D wight's 
" Theology," which must have been a wading-in 
far beyond my depth. I think if I had not poss- 
essed an unusual resiliency of temperament, the 
reading and thinking so much of things pertaining 
to the soul and a future state would have made 
me morbid and unnatural. This tendency to 
read and think in sacred directions was not a 
case of early piety. I do not know what it was. 
I suppose in all natures there are things inex- 
plicable. How strange is the phenomenon of 
childhood days to an old man! 

How well I remember Sanderson's stage coach, 
running from New Brunswick to Easton, as he 
drove through Somerville, New Jersey, turning 
up to the post-office and dropping the mail-bags 
with ten letters and two or three newspapers ! 
On the box Sanderson himself, six feet two 
inches, and well proportioned, long lash-whip in 
one hand, the reins of six horses in the other, the 
" leaders " lathered along the lines of the traces, 
foam dripping from the bits ! It was the event 
of the day when the stage came. It was our 
highest ambition to become a stage-driver. Some 
of the boys climbed on the great leathern boot 
of the stage, and those of us who could not get 
on shouted " Cut behind ! " I saw the old 
stage- driver not long ago, and I expressed to 
him my surprise that one around whose head I 
had seen a halo of glory in my boyhood time was 
only a man like the rest of us. Between Sander- 
son's stage-coach and a Chicago express train, 
what a difference ! 

And I shall always marvel at our family 
doctor. Dear old Dr. Skillman ! My father's 
doctor, my mother's doctor, in the village home! 
He carried all the confidences of all the families 



12 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



for ten miles around. We all felt better as soon 
as we saw him enter the house. His face pro- 
nounced a beatitude before he said a word. He 
welcomed all of us children into life, and he closed 
the old people's eyes. 



THE SECOND MILESTONE 



1845—1869 

When moving out of a house I have always been 
in the habit, after everything was gone, of going 
into each room and bidding it a mute farewell. 
There are the rooms named after the different 
members of the family. I suppose it is so in all 
households. It was so in mine ; we named the 
rooms after the persons who occupied them. I 
moved from the house of my boyhood with a 
sort of mute affection for its remembrances that 
are most vivid in its hours of crisis and medita- 
tion. Through all the years that have intervened 
there is no holier sanctuary to me than the 
memory of my mother's vacant chair. I remem- 
ber it well. It made a creaking noise as it moved. 
It was just high enough to allow us children to 
put our heads into her lap. That was the bank 
where we deposited all our hurts and worries. 

Some time ago, in an express train, I shot past 
that old homestead. I looked out of the window 
and tried to peer through the darkness. While 
I was doing so, one of my old schoolmates, whom 
I had not seen for many years, tapped me on the 
shoulder, and said : " DeWitt, I see you are 
looking out at the scenes of your boyhood." 

*3 



14 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



" Oh, yes," I replied, " I was looking out at the 
old place where my mother lived and died." 

I pass over the boyhood days and the country 
school. The first real breath of life is in young 
manhood, when, with the strength of the un- 
known, he dares to choose a career. I first 
studied for the law, at the New York University. 

New York in 1850 was a small place compared 
to the New York of to-day, but it had all the 
effervescence and glitter of the entire country 
even then. I shall never forget the excitement 
when on September 1st, 1850, Jenny Lind landed 
from the steamer " Atlantic." Not merely be- 
cause of her reputation as a singer, but because of 
her fame for generosity and kindness were the 
people aroused to welcome her. The first §10,000 
she earned in America she devoted to charity, 
and in all the cities of America she poured forth 
her benefactions. Castle Garden was then the 
great concert hall of New York, and I shall never 
forget the night of her first appearance. I was a 
college boy, and Jenny Lind was the first great 
singer I ever heard. There were certain cadences 
in her voice that overwhelmed the audience with 
emotion. I remember a clergyman sitting near 
me who was so overcome that he was obliged to 
leave the auditorium. The school of suffering and 
sorrow had done as much for her voice as the 
Academy of Stockholm. 

The woman who had her in charge when a child 
used to lock her in a room when she went off to 
the daily work. There by the hour Jenny would 
sit at the window, her only amusement singing, 
while she stroked her cat on her lap. But sitting 
there by the window her voice fell on a listener in 
the street. The listener called a music master to 
stand by the same window, and he was fascinated 
and amazed, and took the child to the director of 



JENNY LIND 



15 



the Royal Opera, asking for her the advantages of 
musical education, and the director roughly said : 
" What shall we do with that ugly thing ? See 
what feet she has. And, then, her face; she will 
never be presentable. No, we can't take her. 
Away with her!" But God had decreed for this 
child of nature a grand career, and all those 
sorrows were woven into her faculty of song. 
She never could have been what she became, 
royally arrayed on the platforms of Berlin and 
Vienna and Paris and London and New York, had 
she not first been the poor girl in the garret at 
Stockholm. She had been perfected through 
suffering. That she was genuinely Christian I 
prove not more from her charities than from these 
words which she wrote in an album during her 
triumphal American tour : 

In vain I seek for rest 

In all created good ; 
It leaves me still unblest 

And makes me cry for God. 
And safe at rest I cannot be 
Until my heart finds rest in Thee. 

There never was anyone who could equal Jenny 
Lind in the warble. Some said it was like a lark, 
but she surpassed the lark. Oh, what a warble ! 
I hear it yet. All who heard it thirty-five years 
ago are hearing it yet. 

I should probably have been a lawyer, except 
for the prayers of my mother and father that I 
should preach the Gospel. Later, I entered the 
New Brunswick Theological Seminary. Why I 
ever thought of any other work in the world than 
that which I have done, is another mystery of my 
youth. Everything in my heredity and in my 
heart indicated my career as a preacher. And 
yet, in the days of my infancy I was carried by 



16 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



Christian parents to the house of God, and conse- 
crated in baptism to the Father, and the Son, and 
the Holy Ghost ; but that did not save me. In 
after time I was taught to kneel at the Christian 
family altar with father and mother and brothers 
and sisters. In after time I read Doddridge's 
" Rise and Progress," and Baxter's " Call to the 
Unconverted," and all the religious books around 
my father's household ; but that did not save me. 
But one day the voice of Christ came into my 
heart saying, " Repent, repent ; believe, believe," 
and I accepted the offer of mercy. 

It happened this way : Truman Osborne, one of 
the evangelists who went through this country 
some years ago, had a wonderful art in the right 
direction. He came to my father's house one 
day, and while we were all seated in the room, he 
said : " Mr. Talmage, are all your children 
Christians ? " Father said : " Yes, all but De 
Witt." Then Truman Osborne looked down into 
the fireplace, and began to tell a story of a storm 
that came on the mountains, and all the sheep 
were in the fold ; but there was one lamb outside 
that perished in the storm. Had he looked me in 
the eye, I should have been angered when he told 
me that story ; but he looked into the fireplace, 
and it was so pathetically and beautifully done 
that I never found any peace until I was inside the 
fold, where the other sheep are. 

When I was a lad a book came out entitled 
" Dow Junior's Patent Sermons " ; it made a great 
stir, a very wide laugh all over the country, that 
book did. It was a caricature of the Christian 
ministry and of the Word of God and of the Day 
of Judgment. Oh, we had a great laugh ! The 
commentary on the whole thing is that the author 
of that book died in poverty, shame, debauchery, 
kicked out of society. 



LEAVING HOME 



17 



I have no doubt that derision kept many people 
out of the ark. The world laughed to see a man 
go in, and said, " Here is a man starting for the 
ark. Why, there will be no deluge. If there is 
one, that miserable ship will not weather it. Aha ! 
going into the ark ! Well, that is too good to keep. 
Here, fellows, have you heard the news ? This 
man is going into the ark." Under this artillery 
of scorn the man's good resolution perished. 

I was the youngest of a large family of children. 
My parents were neither rich nor poor; four of the 
sons wanted collegiate education, and four ob- 
tained it, but not without great home-struggle. 
The day I left our country home to look after 
myself we rode across the country, and my father 
was driving. He began to tell how good the 
Lord had been to him, in sickness and in health, 
and when times of hardship came how Providence 
had always provided the means of livelihood for 
the large household ; and he wound up by saying, 
" De Witt, I have always found it safe to trust the 
Lord." I have felt the mighty impetus of that 
lesson in the farm waggon. It has been fulfilled 
in my own life and in the lives of many conse- 
crated men and women I have known. 

In the minister's house where I prepared for 
college there worked a man by the name of Peter 
Croy. He could neither read nor write, but he 
was a man of God. Often theologians would 
stop in the house — grave theologians — and at 
family prayer Peter Croy would be called upon 
to lead ; and all those wise men sat around, 
wonder-struck at his religious efficiency. 

In the church at Somerville, New Jersey, where 
I was afterwards pastor, John Vredenburgh 
preached for a great many years. He felt that 
his ministry was a failure, and others felt so, 
although he was a faithful minister preaching the 

c 



18 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



Gospel all the time. He died, and died amid 
some discouragements, and went home to God ; 
for no one ever doubted that John Vredenburgh 
was a good Christian minister. A little while after 
his death there came a great awakening in Somer- 
ville, and one Sabbath two hundred souls stood 
up at the Christian altar espousing the cause of 
Christ, among them my own father and mother. 
And what was peculiar in regard to nearly all of 
those two hundred souls was that they dated their 
religious impressions from the ministry of John 
Vredenburgh. 

I had no more confidence in my own powers 
when I was studying for the ministry than John 
Vredenburgh. I was often very discouraged. 
" DeWitt," said a man to me as we were walking 
the fields at the time I was in the theological 
school, " DeWitt, if you don't change your style 
of thought and expression, you will never get a 
call to any church in Christendom as long as you 
live." " Well," I replied, " if I cannot preach the 
Gospel in America, then I will go to heathen lands 
and preach it." I thought I might be useful on 
heathen ground, if I could ever learn the language 
of the Chinese, about which I had many fore- 
bodings. The foreign tongue became to me more 
and more an obstacle and a horror, until I resolved 
if I could get an invitation to preach in the 
English language, I would accept it. So one day, 
finding Rev. Dr. Van Vranken, one of our theo- 
logical professors (blessed be his memory), saun- 
tering in the campus of Rutgers College, I asked 
him, with much trepidation, if he would by 
letter introduce me to some officer of the Reformed 
Church at Belleville, N.J., the pulpit of which was 
then vacant. With an outburst of heartiness he 
replied : " Come right into my house, and I will 
give you the letter now." It was a most generous 



MY FIRST SERMON 



19 



introduction of me to Dr. Samuel Ward, a venerable 
elder of the Belleville church. I sent the letter 
to the elder, and within a week received an invi- 
tation to occupy the vacant pulpit. 

I had been skirmishing here and there as a 
preacher, now in the basement of churches at 
week-night religious meetings, and now in school- 
houses on Sunday afternoons, and here and there 
in pulpits with brave pastors who dared risk 
having an inexperienced theological student preach 
to their people. 

But the first sermon with any considerable 
responsibility resting upon it was the sermon 
preached as a candidate for a pastoral call in the 
Reformed Church at Belleville, N.J. I was about 
to graduate from the New Brunswick Theological 
Seminary, and wanted a Gospel field in which to 
work. I had already written to my brother John, 
a missionary at Amoy, China, telling him that I 
expected to come out there. 

I was met by Dr. Ward at Newark, New Jersey, 
and taken to his house. Sabbath morning came. 
With one of my two sermons, which made up my 
entire stock of pulpit resources, I tremblingly 
entered the pulpit of that brown stone village 
church, which stands in my memory as one of the 
most sacred places of all the earth, where I formed 
associations which I expect to resume in Heaven. 

The sermon was fully written, and was on the 
weird battle between the Gideonites and Midian- 
ites, my text being in Judges vii. 20, 21 : " The 
three companies blew the trumpets, and brake the 
pitchers, and held the lamps in their left hands, 
and the trumpets in their right hands to blow 
withal ; and they cried, The sword of the Lord, 
and of Gideon. And they stood every man in his 
place round about the camp ; and all the host ran, 
and cried, and fled." A brave text, but a very 



20 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



timid man to handle it. I did not feel at all that 
hour either like blowing Gideon's trumpet, or 
holding up the Gospel lamp ; but if I had, like 
any of the Gideonites, held a pitcher, I think I 
would have dropped it and broken that lamp. I 
felt as the moment approached for delivering my 
sermon more like the Midianites, who, according 
to my text, " ran, and cried, and fled." I had 
placed the manuscript of my sermon on the pulpit 
sofa beside where I sat. Looking around to put 
my hand on the manuscript, lo ! it was gone. 
But where had it gone ? My excitement knew no 
bound. Within three minutes of the greatest 
ordeal of my life, and the sermon on which so 
much depended mysteriously vanished! How 
much disquietude and catastrophe were crowded 
into those three minutes it would be impossible 
to depict. Then I noticed for the first time that 
between the upper and lower parts of the sofa 
there was an opening about the width of three 
finger-breadths, and I immediately suspected that 
through that opening the manuscript of my sermon 
had disappeared. But how could I recover it, 
and in so short a time ? I bent over and reached 
under as far as I could. But the sofa was low, 
and I could not touch the lost discourse. The 
congregation were singing the last verse of the 
hymn, and I was reduced to a desperate effort. 
I got down on my hands and knees, and then 
down flat, and crawled under the sofa and clutched 
the prize. Fortunately, the pulpit front was 
wide, and hid the sprawling attitude I was com- 
pelled to take. When I arose to preach a moment 
after, the fugitive manuscript before me on the 
Bible, it is easy to understand why I felt more like 
the Midianites than I did like Gideon. 

This and other mishaps with manuscripts 
helped me after a while to strike for entire 



MY ORDINATION 



21 



emancipation from such bondage, and for about a 
quarter of a century I have preached without 
notes — only a sketch of the sermon pinned in my 
Bible, and that sketch seldom referred to. 

When I entered the ministry I looked very 
pale for years, for four or five years, many times 
I was asked if I had consumption ; and, passing 
through the room, I would sometimes hear people 
sigh and say, "A-ah ! not long for this world ! " 
I resolved in those times that I never, in any 
conversation, would say anything depressing, and 
by the help of God I have kept the resolution. 

The day for my final examination for a licence 
to preach the Gospel for ordination by the laying 
on of hands, and for installation as pastor for the 
Reformed Church of Belleville, N.J., had arrived. 
The examination as to my qualifications was to 
take place in the morning, and if the way proved 
clear, the ordination and installation were to be 
solemnised in the afternoon of the same day. 
The embarrassing thought was that members of 
the congregation were to be present in the morn- 
ing, as well as the afternoon. If I made a mistake 
or failure under the severe scrutiny of the Eccle- 
siastical Court, I would ever after be at a great 
disadvantage in preaching to those good people. 

It so happened, however, that the Classis, as 
the body of clergy were called, was made up 
mostly of genial, consecrated persons, and no 
honest young man would suffer anything at their 
hands. Although I was exceedingly nervous, and 
did not do myself justice, and no doubt appeared 
to know less than I really did know, all went 
well until a clergyman, to whom I shall give the 
fictitious name of " Dr. Hardman," took me in 
hand. This "Dr. Hardman" had a dislike for me. 
He had once wanted me to do something for him 
and take his advice in matters of a pastoral 



22 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



settlement, which I had, for good reasons, 
declined to take. I will not go further into the 
reasons of this man's antipathy, lest someone 
should know whom I mean. One thing was 
certain to all present, and that was his wish to 
defeat my installation as pastor of that church, 
or make it to me a disagreeable experience. 

As soon as he opened upon me a fire of inter- 
rogations, what little spirit I had in me dropped. 
In the agitation I could not answer the simplest 
questions. But he assailed me with puzzlers. 
He wanted to know, among other things, if 
Christ's atonement availed for other worlds ; to 
which I replied that I did not know, as I had 
never studied theology in any world but this. He 
hooked me with the horns of a dilemma. A 
Turkish bath, with the thermometer up to 113, 
is cool compared to the perspiration into which he 
threw me. At this point Rev. James W. Scott, 
D.D. (that was his real name, and not fictitious) 
arose. Dr. Scott was a Scotchman of about 65 
years of age. He had been a classmate of the 
remarkable Scottish poet, Robert Pollock. The 
Doctor was pastor of a church at Newark, N.J. 
He was the impersonation of kindness, and gen- 
erosity, and helpfulness. The Gospel shone from 
every feature. I never saw him under any cir- 
cumstances without a smile on his face. He had 
been on the Mount of Transfiguration, and the 
glory had never left his countenance. 

I calculate the value of the soul by its capacity 
for happiness. How much joy it can get in this 
world — out of friendships, out of books, out of 
clouds, out of the sea, out of flowers, out of ten 
thousand things! Yet all the joy it has here 
does not test its capacity. 

As Dr. Scott rose that day he said, " Mr. 
President, I think this examination has gone on 



A CLERICAL COMPARISON 23 



long enough, and I move it be stopped, and that 
the examination be pronounced satisfactory, and 
that this young man be licensed to preach the 
Gospel, and that this afternoon we proceed to his 
ordination and installation." The motion was 
put and carried, and I was released from a 
Protestant purgatory. 

But the work was not yet done. By rule of 
that excellent denomination, of which I was then 
a member, the call of a church must be read and 
approved before it can be lawfully accepted. The 
call from that dear old church at Belleville was 
read, and in it I was provided with a month's 
summer vacation. Dr. Hardman rose, and said 
that he thought that a month was too long a 
vacation, and he proposed two weeks. Then 
Dr. Scott arose and said, if any change were 
made he would have the vacation six weeks ; 4 6 For, 5 ' 
said he, " that young man does not look very 
strong physically, and I believe he should have 
a good long rest every summer." But the call 
was left as it originally read, promising me a 
month of recuperation each year. 

At the close of that meeting of Classis, Dr. Scott 
came up to me, took my right hand in both his 
hands, and said, " I congratulate you on the oppor- 
tunity that opens here. Do your best, and God 
will see you through ; and if some Saturday night 
you find yourself short of a sermon, send down 
to Newark, only three miles, and I will come up 
and preach for you." Can anyone imagine the 
difference of my appreciation of Dr. Hardman and 
Dr. Scott ? 

Only a few weeks passed on, and the crisis that 
Dr. Scott foresaw in my history occurred, and 
Saturday night saw me short of a sermon. So I 
sent a messenger to Dr. Scott. He said to the 
messenger, " I am very tired ; have been holding 



24 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



a long series of special services in my church, but 
that young Talmage must be helped, and I will 
preach' for him to-morrow night." He arrived in 
time, and preached a glowing and rousing sermon 
on the text, " Have ye received the Holy Ghost ? " 
As I sat behind him in the pulpit and looked upon 
him I thought, " What a magnificent soul you 
are ! Tired out with your own work, and yet come 
up here to help a young man to whom you are 
under no obligation ! " Well, that was the last 
sermon he ever preached. The very next Satur- 
day he dropped dead in his house. Outside of his 
own family no one was more broken-hearted at 
his obsequies than myself, to whom he /had, until 
the meeting of Classis, been a total stranger. 

I stood at his funeral in the crowd beside a poor 
woman with a faded shawl and worn-out hat, who 
was struggling up to get one look at the dear old 
face in the coffin. She was being crowded back. 
I said, " Follow me, and you shall see him." So 
I pushed the way up for her as well as myself, and 
when we got up to the silent form she burst out 
crying, and said, " That is the last friend I had 
in the world." 

Dr. Hardman lived on. He lived to write a 
letter when I was called to Syracuse, N.Y., a 
letter telling a prominent officer of the Syracuse 
Church that I would never do at all for their 
pastor. He lived on until I was called to Phila- 
delphia, and wrote a letter to a prominent officer 
in the Philadelphia Church telling them not to 
call me. Years ago he went to his rest. But the 
two men will always stand in my memory as 
opposites in character. The one taught me a 
lesson never to be forgotten about how to treat a 
young man, and the other a lesson about how not 
to treat a young man. Dr. Scott and Dr. Hard- 
man, the antipodes ! 



MY FIRST PASTORATE 25 



So my first settlement as pastor was in the 
village of Belleville, N.J. My salary was eight 
hundred dollars and a parsonage. The amount 
seemed enormous to me. I said to myself : 
" What ! all this for one year?" I was afraid of 
getting worldly under so much prosperity ! I 
resolved to invite all the congregation to my 
house in groups of twenty-five each. We* began, 
and as they were the best congregation in all the 
world, and we felt nothing was too good for 
them, we piled all the luxuries on the table. I 
never completed the undertaking. At the end of 
six months I was in financial despair. I found 
that we not only had not the surplus of luxuries, 
but we had a struggle to get the necessaries. 

Although the first call I ever had was to 
Piermont, N.Y., my first real work began in the 
Reformed Church of Belleville, N.J. I preached 
at Piermont in the morning, and at the Congre- 
gational meeting held in the afternoon of the same 
day it was resolved to invite me to become pastor. 
But for the very high hill on which the parsonage 
was situated I should probably have accepted. 
I was delighted with the congregation, and with 
the grand scenery of that region. 

I was ordained to the Gospel Ministry and 
installed as pastor July 29th, 1856, my brother 
Goyn preaching the sermon from the text, First 
Corinthians hi. 12, 13. Reverend Dr. Benjamin 
C. Taylor, the oldest minister present, offered the 
ordaining prayer, and about twenty hands were 
laid upon my head. All these facts are obtained 
from a memorandum made by a hand that long 



* While at Belleville Dr. Talmage married Miss Mary Avery, of Brooklyn, 
N.Y., by whom he had two children — a son, Thomas De Witt, and a daugh- 
ter, Jessie. Mrs. Talmage was accidentally drowned in the Schuylkill 
River while Dr. Talmage was pastor of the Second Reformed Church of 
Philadelphia. 



26 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



since forgot its cunning and kindness. The three 
years passed in Belleville were years of hard work. 
The hardest work in a clergyman's lifetime is 
during the first three years. No other occupation 
or profession puts such strain upon one's nerves 
and brain. Two sermons and a lecture per week 
are an appalling demand to make upon a young 
man. Most of the ministers never get over that 
first three years. They leave upon one's diges- 
tion or nervous system a mark that nothing but 
death can remove. It is not only the amount of 
mental product required of a young minister, but 
the draft upon his sympathies and the novelty of 
all that he undertakes ; his first sermon ; his 
first baptism ; his first communion season ; 
his first pastoral visitation ; his first wedding ; 
his first funeral. 

My first baptism was of Lily Webster, a black- 
eyed baby, who grew up to be as beautiful a 
woman as she was a child. 

I baptised her. Rev. Dr. John Dowling, of the 
Baptist Church, New York, preached for me and 
my church his great sermon on, " 1 saw a great 
multitude which no man could number, of all 
nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, 
clothed in white robes." In my verdancy I 
feared that the Doctor, who did not believe in the 
baptism of infants, might take it for a personal 
affront that I had chosen that evening for this 
my first baptism. 

Sometimes at the baptism of children, while I 
have held up one hand in prayer, I have held up the 
other in amazement that the parents should have 
weighted the babe with such a dissonant and 
repulsive nomenclature. I have not so much 
wondered that some children should cry out at 
the Christening font, as that others with such 
smiling faces should take a title that will be the 



DR. TALMAGE IN HIS FIRST CHURCH, BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY. 



MY FIRST BAPTISM 27 

burden of their lifetime. It is no excuse because 
they are Scriptural names to call a child Jehoiakim, 
or Tiglath Pileser. I baptised one by the name 
of Bathsheba. Why, under all the circum- 
ambient heaven, any parent should want to give 
a child the name of that loose creature of Scripture 
times, I cannot imagine. I have often felt at the 
baptismal altar when names were announced 
somewhat like saying, as did the Rev. Dr. 
Richards, of Morristown, New Jersey, when a v 
child was handed to him for baptism, and the 
names given, " Hadn't you better call it something 
else?" 

On this occasion I had adopted the theory, 
which I long since abandoned, that an officia- 
ting clergyman at baptism should take the child 
in his arms. Now, there are many ministers who 
do not know how to hold a baby, and they 
frighten the child and increase the anxiety of the 
mother, and may create a riot all along the line if 
there be other infants waiting for the ceremony. 

After reading the somewhat prolonged liturgy 
of the dear old Reformed Church, I came down 
from the pulpit and took the child in my arms. 
She was, however, far more composed than myself, 
and made no resistance; but the overpowering 
sensation attached to the first application of the 
holy chrism is a vivid and everlasting memory. 

Then, the first pastoral visitation ! With me it 
was at the house of a man suffering from dropsy 
in the leg. He unbandaged the limb and insisted 
upon my looking at the fearful malady. I never 
could with any composure look at pain, and the 
last profession in all the world suited to me would 
have been surgery. After praying with the man 
and offering him Scriptural condolence, I started 
for home. 

My wife met me with anxious countenance, and 



28 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



said, " How did you get hurt, and what is the 
matter ? " The sight of the lame leg had made my 
leg lame, and unconsciously I was limping on the 
way home. 

But I had quite another experience with a 
parishioner. He was a queer man, and in bad 
odour in the community. Some time previously 
his wife had died, and although a man of plenty 
of means, in order to economise on funeral ex- 
penses, he had wheeled his wife to the grave on 
a wheelbarrow. This economy of his had not 
led the village to any higher appreciation of the 
man's character. Having been told of his inex- 
pensive eccentricities, I was ready for him when 
one morning he called at the parsonage. As he 
entered he began by saying : "I came in to say 
that I don't like you." " Well," I said, " that 
is a strange coincidence, for I cannot bear the 
sight of you. I hear that you are the meanest 
man in town, and that your neighbours despise 
you. I hear that you wheeled your wife on a 
wheelbarrow to the graveyard." To say the 
least, our conversation that day was unique and 
spirited, and it led to his becoming a most ardent 
friend and admirer. I have had multitudes of 
friends, but I have found in my own experience 
that God so arranged it that the greatest oppor- 
tunities of usefulness that have been opened 
before me were opened by enemies. And when, 
years ago, they conspired against me, their 
assault opened all Christendom to me as a field 
in which to preach the Gospel. So you may 
harness your antagonists to your best interests 
and compel them to draw you on to better work. 
He allowed me to officiate at his second marriage, 
did this mine enemy. All the town was awake 
that night. They had somehow heard that this 
economist at obsequies was to be remarried. 



A MARRIAGE AND A FUNERAL 29 



Well, I was inside his house trying, under adverse 
circumstances, to make the twain one flesh. There 
were outside demonstrations most extraordinary, 
and all in consideration of what the bridegroom 
had been to that community. Horns, trumpets, 
accordions, fiddles, fire-crackers, tin pans, howls, 
screeches, huzzas, halloos, missiles striking the 
front door, and bedlam let loose ! Matters grew 
worse as the night advanced, until the town 
authorities read the Riot Act, and caused the 
only cannon belonging to the village to be hauled 
out on the street and loaded, threatening death to 
the mob if they did not disperse. Glad am I to 
say that it was only a farce, and no tragedy. My 
mode of first meeting this queer man was a case 
in which it is best to fight fire with fire. I 
remember also the first funeral. It nearly killed 
me. A splendid young man skating on the Passaic 
River in front of my house had broken through 
the ice, and his body after many hours had been 
grappled from the water and taken home to his 
distracted parents. To be the chief consoler in 
such a calamity was something for which I felt 
completely incompetent. When in the old but 
beautiful church the silent form of the young 
man whom we all loved rested beneath the pulpit, 
it was a pull upon my emotions I shall never for- 
get. On the way to the grave, in the same carriage 
with the eminent Reverend Dr. Fish, who helped 
in the services, I said, "This is awful. One more 
funeral like this will be the end of us." He 
replied, " You will learn after awhile to be 
calm under such circumstances. You cannot 
console others unless you preserve your own 
equipoise." 

Those years at Belleville were to me memorable. 
No vacation, but three times a day I took a row 
on the river. Those old families in my congre- 



30 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



gation I can never forget — the Van Rensselaers, 
the Stevenses, the Wards. These families took us 
under their wing. At Mr. Van Rensselaer's we 
dined every Monday. It had been the habit of 
my predecessors in the pulpit. Grand old family ! 
Their name not more a synonym for wealth than 
for piety. Mrs. Van Rensselaer was one of the 
saints clear up in the heaven of one's appreciation. 

Wm. Stevens was an embodiment of generosity. 
He could not pray in public, or make a speech ; 
but he could give money, and when he had plenty 
of it he gave in large sums, and when monetary 
disaster came, his grief was that he had nothing to 
give. I saw him go right through all the per- 
turbations of business life. He was faithful to 
God. I saw him one day worth hundreds of 
thousands of dollars. I saw him the next day 
and he was not worth a farthing. Stevens ! 
How plainly he comes before me as I think of the 
night in 1857 after the New York banks had gone 
down, and he had lost everything except his faith 
in God, and he was at the prayer meeting to lead 
the singing as usual ! And, not noticing that from 
the fatigues of that awful financial panic he had 
fallen asleep, I arose and gave out the hymn, 
" My drowsy powers, why sleep ye so ? " His 
wife wakened him, and he started the hymn at 
too high a pitch, and stopped, saying, " That is 
too high " ; then started it at too low a pitch, 
and stopped, saying, 44 That is too low." It is 
the only mistake I ever heard him make. But 
the only wonder is that amid the circumstances of 
broken fortunes he could sing at all. 

Dr. Samuel Ward ! He was the angel of health 
for the neighbourhood. Before anyone else was 
up any morning, passing along his house you 
would see him in his office reading. He presided 
at the first nativity in my household. He it was 



FIRST PARISHIONERS 31 



that met me at the railroad station when I went 
to preach my first sermon as candidate, at Belle- 
ville. He medicated for many years nearly all 
the wounds for body and mind in that region. An 
elder in the Church, he could administer to the soul 
as well as to the perishable nature of his patients. 

And the Duncans ! Broad Scotch as they were 
in speech ! I was so much with them that I got 
unconsciously some of the Scottish brogue in my 
own utterance. William, cautious and prudent ; 
John, bold and venturesome — both so high in my 
affections ! Among the first ones that I ask for in 
Heaven will be John and William Duncan. 

Gasherie De Witt ! He embodied a large part 
of the enterprise and enthusiasm of the place. 
He had his head full of railroads long before the 
first spike was driven for an iron pathway to the 
village. We were much together and ardently 
attached ; went fishing together on long summer 
days, he catching the fish, and I watching the 
process. When we dedicated the first Brooklyn 
Tabernacle, he was present, and gave the money 
for building a baptistry in the pulpit, and gave 
besides $100 for his wife and each one of his 
children. When we parted from each other at 
Oxford, England, he to go to Geneva, Switzer- 
land, to die, and I to come back to America, much 
of sweet acquaintanceship and complete confi- 
dence ended for this world, only to be taken up 
under celestial auspices. 

But time and space would fail to tell of the 
noble men and women that stood around me in 
those early years of my ministry. They are all 
gone, and their personality makes up a large part 
of my anticipation of the world to come. 



f 



THE THIRD MILESTONE 



1856—1862 

My first sermons were to me the most tre- 
mendous endeavours of my life, because I felt the 
awful responsibility of standing in a pulpit, 
knowing that a great many people would be 
influenced by what I said concerning God, or the 
soul, or the great future. 

When I first began to preach, I was very 
cautious lest I should be misrepresented, and 
guarded the subject on all sides. I got beyond 
that point. I found that I got on better when, 
without regard to consequences, I threw myself 
upon the hearts and consciences of my hearers. 

In those early days of my pastoral experience 
I saw how men reason themselves into sceptic- 
ism. I knew what it was to have a hundred 
nights poured into one hour. 

I remember one infidel book in the possession 
of my student companion. He said, 44 DeWitt, 
would you like to read that book ? " 44 Well," 
said I, 44 1 would like to look at it." I read it a 
little while. I said to him, 44 I dare not read that 
book ; you had better destroy it. I give you 
my advice, you had better destroy it. I dare 
not read that book. I have read enough of 
it." 44 Oh," he said, 44 haven't you a stronger 



A GREAT METHODIST ORATOR 33 



mind than that ? Can't you read a book you 
don't exactly believe, and not be affected by it ? " 
I said, " You had better destroy it." He kept 
it. He read it until he gave up the Bible ; his 
belief in the existence of a God, his good morals ; 
until body, mind and soul were ruined — and he 
went into the insane asylum. I read too much of 
it. I read about fifteen or twenty pages of it. 
I wish I had never read it. It never did me any 
good ; it did me harm. I have often struggled 
with what I read in that book. I rejected it, I 
denounced it, I cast it out with infinite scorn, I 
hated it; yet sometimes its caricature of good 
and its eulogium of evil have troubled me. 

With supreme gratitude, therefore, I remember 
the wonderful impression made upon me, when I 
was a young man, of the presence of a consecrated 
human being in the pulpit. 

It was a Sabbath evening in spring at " The 
Trinity Methodist Church," Jersey City. Rev. 
William P. Corbit, the pastor of that church, in 
compliment to my relatives, who attended upon 
his services, invited me to preach for him. I had 
only a few months before entered the Gospel 
ministry, and had come in from my village 
settlement to occupy a place in the pulpit of the 
great Methodist orator. In much trepidation 
on my part I entered the church with Mr. Corbit, 
and sat trembling in the corner of the " sacred 
desk," waiting for the moment to begin the 
service. A crowded audience had assembled to 
hear the pastor of that church preach, and the 
disappointment I was about to create added to 
my embarrassment. 

The service opened, and the time came to offer 
the prayer before sermon. I turned to Mr. 
Corbit and said, " I wish you would lead in 
prayer." He replied, " No ! sharpen your own 

D 



34 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



knife ! " The whole occasion was to me memo- 
rable for its agitations. But there began an 
acquaintanceship that became more and more 
endearing and ardent as the years went by. 
After he ceased, through the coming on of the 
infirmities of age, to occupy a pulpit of his own, 
he frequented my church on the Sabbaths, and 
our prayer-meetings during the week. He was 
the most powerful exhorter I ever heard. What- 
ever might be the intensity of interest in a revival 
service, he would in a ten minute address augment 
it. I never heard him deliver a sermon except 
on two occasions, and those during my boyhood ; 
but they made lasting impressions upon me. 
I do not remember the texts or the ideas, but 
they demonstrated the tremendous reality of 
spiritual and eternal things, and showed possi- 
bilities in religious address that I had never 
known or imagined. 

He was so unique in manners, in pulpit oratory, 
and in the entire type of his nature, that no one 
will ever be able to describe what he was. Those 
who saw and heard him the last ten or fifteen 
years of his decadence can have no idea of his 
former power as a preacher of the Gospel. 

There he is, as I first saw him ! Eye like a 
hawk's. Hair long and straight as a Chippewa 
Indian's. He was not straight as an arrow, for 
that suggests something too fragile and short,but 
more like a column — not only straight, but tall 
and majestic, and capable of holding any weight, 
and without fatigue or exertion. When he put 
his foot down, either literally of figuratively, it 
was down. Vacillation, or fear, or incertitude, 
or indecision, were strangers to whom he would 
never be introduced. When he entered a room 
you were, to use a New Testament phrase, 
" exceedingly filled with his company." 



MY SECOND PASTORATE 35 



He was as affectionate as a woman to those whom 
he liked, and cold as Greenland to those whose 
principles were an affront. He was not only a 
mighty speaker, but a mighty listener. I do not 
know how any man could speak upon any import- 
ant theme, standing in his presence, without being 
set on fire by his alert sympathy. 

But he has vanished from mortal sight. What 
the resurrection will do for him I cannot say. If 
those who have only ordinary stature and un- 
impressive physique in this world are at the last 
to have bodies resplendent and of supernal 
potency, what will the unusual corporiety of 
William P. Corbit become ? In his case the resur- 
rection will have unusual material to start with. 
If a sculptor can mould a handsome form out of 
clay, what can he not put out of Parian marble ? 
If the blast of the trumpet which wakes the dead 
rouses life-long invalidism and emaciation into 
athletic celestialism, what will be the trans- 
figuration when the sound of final reanimation 
touches the ear of those sleeping giants among the 
trees and fountains of Greenwood ? 

Good-bye, great and good and splendid soul! 
Good-bye, till we meet again ! I will look around 
for you as soon as I come, if through the pardoning 
grace of Christ I am so happy as to reach the place 
of your destination. Meet me at the gate of the 
city ; or under the tree of life on the bank of the 
river ; or just inside of the door of the House of 
Many Mansions ; or in the hall of the Temple 
which has no need of stellar or lunar or solar 
illumination, "For the Lamb is the Light 
thereof." 

After three years of grace and happiness at 
Belleville I accepted a call to a church in Syra- 
cuse. My pastorate there, in the very midst of 
its most uplifting crisis, was interrupted, as I 



36 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



believe, by Divine orders. The ordeal of deciding 
anything important in my life has always been a 
desperate period of anxiety. I never have really 
decided for myself. God has told me what to do. 
The first great crisis of this sort came to me in 
Syracuse. While living there I received a 
pastoral call from the Second Reformed Church 
of Philadelphia. Six weeks of agony followed. 

I was about 30 years of age. The thick shock 
of hair with which I had been supplied, in those 
six weeks was thinned out to its present scarcity. 
My church in Syracuse was made up of as delight- 
ful people as ever came together ; but I felt that 
the climate of Philadelphia would be better 
adapted to my health, and so I was very anxious 
to go. But a recent revival in my Syracuse 
Church, and a movement at that time on foot 
for extensive repairs of our building, made the 
question of my leaving for another pastorate very 
doubtful. Six weeks of sleeplessness followed. 
Every morning I combed out handfuls of hair as 
the result of the nervous agitation. Then I 
decided to stay, and never expected to leave those 
kind parishioners of Syracuse. 

A year afterward the call from Philadelphia 
was repeated, and all the circumstances having 
changed, I went. But I learned, during those six 
weeks of uncertainty about going from Syracuse 
to Philadelphia, a lesson I shall never forget, and 
a lesson that might be useful to others in like 
crisis : namely, that it is one's duty to stay 
where you are until God makes it evident that 
you should move. 

In all my life I never had one streak of good 
luck. But I have had a good God watching and 
guiding me. 

While I was living in Syracuse I delivered my 
first lecture. It was a literary lecture. My ideas 



MY FIRST LECTURE 37 



of a literary lecture are very much changed from 
what they used to be. I used to think that a 
lecture ought to be something very profound. 
I began with three or four lectures of that kind 
in stock. My first lecture audience was in a 
patient community of the town of Hudson, N.Y. 
All my addresses previously had been literary. 
I had made speeches on literature and patriotism, 
and sometimes filled the gaps when in lecture 
courses speakers announced failed to arrive. 

But the first paid lecture was at Hudson. 
The fifty dollars which I received for it seemed 
immense. Indeed it was the extreme price paid 
anyone in those days. It was some years later 
in life that I got into the lecturing field. It was 
always, however, subordinate to my chief work 
of preaching the Gospel. 

Syracuse in 1859 was the West. I felt there 
all the influences that are now western. Now 
there is no West left. They have chased it into 
the Pacific Ocean. 

In 1862 I accepted a call to the Second 
Reformed Church of Philadelphia. 

What remembrances come to me, looking back- 
ward to this period of our terrific national 
carnalism ! I shall never forget the first time I 
ever saw Abraham Lincoln. We followed into 
his room, at the White House, a committee that 
had come to Washington to tell the President 
how to conduct the war. The saddest-looking 
man I ever saw was Abraham Lincoln. He had 
a far-away look while he stood listening to an 
address being made to him by one of the com- 
mittee, as though beyond and far and wide he 
could see the battlefields and hospitals and 
conflagrations of national bereavement. One 
of our party asked for his autograph; he cheer- 
fully gave it, asking, " Is that all I can do for 



38 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



you ? " He was at that time the most abused 
man in America. 

I remember the alarm in Philadelphia when 
General Lee's army invaded Pennsylvania. Mer- 
chants sent their goods quietly to New York. 
Residents hid their valuables. A request for arms 
was made at the arsenals, and military companies 
were organised. Preachers appealed to the men 
in their congregations, organised companies, en- 
gaged a drill sergeant, and carried on daily drills 
in the yards adjoining their churches. 

In the regiment I joined for a short time there 
were many clergymen. It was the most awkward 
squad of men ever got together. We drilled a 
week or two, and then disbanded. Whether 
General Lee heard of the formation of our 
regiment or not I cannot say, but he immediately 
retreated across the Potomac. 

There were in Philadelphia and its vicinity many 
camps of prisoners of war, hospitals for the sick 
and wounded. Waggon trains of supplies for 
the soldiers were constantly passing through the 
streets. I was privileged to be of some service 
in the field to the Christian Commission. With 
Dr. Brainerd and Samuel B. Falls I often per- 
formed some duty at the Cooper shop ; while 
with George H. Stuart and George T. Merigens 
I invited other cities to make appeals for money 
to forward the great work of the Secretary and 
Christian Commissions. In our churches we 
were constantly busy getting up entertainments 
and fairs to help those rendered destitute by the 
loss of fathers and brothers in the field. 

Just before the battle of Gettysburg a long 
procession of clergymen, headed by Dr. Brainerd, 
marched to Fairmount Park with spades over 
their shoulders to throw up entrenchments. The 
victory of the Federal troops at Vicksburg and 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 39 



Gettysburg rendered those earthworks un- 
necessary. 

A distinguished gentleman of the Civil War 
told me that Abraham Lincoln proposed to avoid 
our civil conflict by purchasing the slaves of 
the South and setting them free. He calculated 
what would be a reasonable price for them, and 
when the number of millions of dollars that would 
be required for such a purpose was announced 
the proposition was scouted, and the North w ould 
not have made the offer, and the South would not 
have accepted it, if made. 

" But," said my military friend, " the war went 
on, and just the number of million dollars that 
Mr. Lincoln calculated would have been enough 
to make a reasonable purchase of all the slaves 
were spent in war, besides all the precious lives 
that were hurled away in 250 battles." 

There ought to be some other way for men 
to settle their controversies without wholesale 
butchering. 

It was due partly to the national gloom that 
overspread the people during the Civil War that I 
took to the lecture platform actively. I entered fully 
into the lecturing field when I went to Philadelphia, 
where DeWitt Moore, officer in my church and 
a most intimate friend, asked me to lecture for the 
benefit of a Ball Club to which he belonged. That 
lecture in a hall in Locust Street, Philadelphia, 
opened the way for more than I could do as 
lecturer. 

I have always made such engagements subor- 
dinate to my chief work of preaching the Gospel. 
Excepting two long journeys a year, causing each 
an absence of two Sundays, I have taken no lec- 
turing engagements, except one a week, generally 
Thursdays. Lecturing has saved my life and 
prolonged my work. It has taken me from an 



40 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



ever-ringing door-bell, and freshened me for 
work, railroad travelling being to me a recu- 
peration. 

I have lectured in nearly all the cities of the 
United States, Canada, England, Ireland and 
Scotland, and in most of them many times. 
The prices paid me have seemed too large, but 
my arrangements have generally been made 
through bureaus, and almost invariably local 
committees have cleared money. The lecture 
platform seemed to me to offer greater opportu- 
nity for usefulness. Things that could not be 
said in the pulpit, but which ought to be said, 
may be said on the lyceum platform. And there 
was so much that had to be said then, to encour- 
age, to cheer, to brighten, to illumine the sorrow 
and bereavement. From the first I regarded my 
lecture tours as an annex to my church. The 
lecture platform has been to me a pastoral visit- 
ation. It has given me an opportunity of 
meeting hundreds of thousands of people to 
whom, through the press, I have for many years 
administered the Gospel. 

People have often asked me how much money I 
received for my lectures. The amounts have 
been a great surprise to me, often. 

For many years I have been paid from $400 
to $1,000 a lecture. The longer the journey the 
bigger the fee usually. The average remunera- 
tion was about $500 a night. In Cleveland 
and in Cincinnati I received $750. In Chicago, 
$1,000. Later I was offered $6,000 for six 
lectures in Chicago, to be delivered one a month, 
during the World's Fair, but I declined them. 

My expenses in many directions have been 
enormous, and without a large income for lectures 
I could not have done many things which I felt 
it important to do. I have always been under 



THE PUMP HANDLE 41 

obligation to the press. Sometimes it has not 
intended to help me, but it has, being hard 
pressed for news. 

During the Civil War, when news was suffi- 
ciently exciting for the most ambitious journalist, 
they used to come to my church for a copy of 
my Sermons. News in those days was pretty 
accurate, but it sometimes went wrong. 

On a Sabbath night, at the close of a preaching 
service in Philadelphia, a reporter of one of the 
prominent newspapers came into my study 
adjoining the pulpit and asked of me a sketch of 
the sermon just delivered, as he had been sent to 
take it, but had been unavoidably detained. 
His mind did not seem to be very clear, but I 
dictated to him about a column of my sermon. 
He had during the afternoon or evening been 
attending a meeting of the Christian Com- 
mission for raising funds for the hospitals, and 
ex-Governor Pollock had been making a speech. 
The reporter had that speech of the ex-Governor 
of Pennsylvania in his hand, and had the sketch 
of my sermon in the same bundle of reportorial 
notes. He opened the door to depart and said, 
" Good evening," and I responded, " Good eve- 
ning." The way out from my study to the street 
was through a dark alley across which a pump 
handle projected to an unreasonable extent. 
" Look out for that pump handle," I said, " or 
you may get hurt." But the warning did not 
come soon enough. I heard the collision and 
then a hard fall, and a rustle of papers, and a 
scramble, and then some words of objurgation at 
the sudden overthrow. 

There was no portable light that I could take 
to his assistance. Beside that, I was as much 
upset with cruel laughter as the reporter had 
been by the pump handle. In this state of 



42 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



helplessness I shut the door. But the next morning 
newspaper proved how utter had been the dis- 
comfiture and demoralisation of my journalistic 
friend. He put my sermon under the name of 
ex-Governor Pollock at the meeting of the 
Christian Commission, and he made my discourse 
begin with the words, " When I was Governor 
of Pennsylvania." 

Never since John Gutenberg invented the art 
of printing was there such a riot of types or such 
mixing up of occasions. Philadelphia went into 
a brown study as to what it all meant, and the 
more the people read of ex-Governor Pollock's 
speech and of my sermon of the night before, the 
more they were stunned by the stroke of that 
pump handle. 

But it was soon forgotten — everything is. The 
memory of man is poor. All the talk about the 
country never forgetting those who fought for it 
is an untruth. It does forget. Picture how 
veterans of the war sometimes had to turn the 
hand-organs on the streets of Philadelphia to get 
a living for their families ! How ruthlessly many 
of them have been turned out of office that some 
bloat of a politician might take their place ! The 
fact is, there is not a man or woman under thirty 
years of age, who, born before the war, has any 
full appreciation of the four years martyrdom of 
1861 to 1865, inclusive. I can scarcely remember, 
and yet I still feel the pressure of domestic 
calamity that overshadowed the nation then. 

Since things have been hardened, as was the 
guardsman in the Crimean War who heartlessly 
wrote home to his mother : " I do not want to 
see any more crying letters come to the Crimea 
from you. Those I have received I have put into 
my rifle, after loading it, and have fired them at 
the Russians, because you appear to have a 



A NATIONAL PEACE JUBILEE 43 



strong dislike of them. If you had seen as many 
killed as I have you would not have as many 
weak ideas as you now have." 

After the War came a period of great national 
rejoicing. I shall never forget, in the summer of 
1869, a great national peace jubilee was held in 
Boston, and DeWitt Moore, an elder of my church, 
had been honoured by the selection of some of his 
music to be rendered on that occasion. I accom- 
panied him to the jubilee. Forty thousand 
people sat and stood in the great Colosseum 
erected for that purpose. Thousands of wind 
and stringed instruments ; twelve thousand 
trained voices ! The masterpieces of all ages 
rendered, hour after hour, and day after day — 
Handel's " Judas Maccabseus," Spohr's " Last 
Judgment," Beethoven's " Mount of Olives," 
Haydn's " Creation," Mendelssohn's " Elijah," 
Meyerbeer's " Coronation March," rolling on and 
up in surges that billowed against the heavens ! 
The mighty cadences within were accompanied 
on the outside by the ringing of the bells of the 
city, and cannon on the common, in exact time with 
the music, discharged by electricity, thundering 
their awful bars of a harmony that astounded all 
nations. Sometimes I bowed my head and wept. 
Sometimes I stood up in the enchantment, and 
sometimes the effect was so overpowering I felt I 
could not endure it. 

When all the voices were in full chorus, and all 
the batons in full wave, and all the orchestra in 
full triumph, and a hundred anvils under mighty 
hammers were in full clang, and all the towers of 
the city rolled in their majestic sweetness, and 
the whole building quaked with the boom of thirty 
cannon, Parepa Rosa, with a voice that will 
never again be equalled on earth until the arch- 
angelic voice proclaims that time shall be no 



44 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



longer, rose above all other sounds in her render- 
ing of our national air, the " Star Spangled 
Banner." It was too much for a mortal, and 
quite enough for an immortal, to hear: and 
while some fainted, one womanly spirit, released 
under its power, sped away to be with God. 
It was a marvel of human emotion in patriotic 
frenzy. 

Immediately following the Civil War there was 
a great wave of intemperance, and bribery swept 
over our land. The temptation to intemperance 
in public places grew more and more terrific. 
Of the men who were prominent in political 
circles but few died respectably. The majority 
among them died of delirium tremens. The 
doctor usually fixed up the case for the news- 
papers, and in his report to them it was usually 
gout, or rheumatism, or obstruction of the liver, 
or exhaustion from patriotic services — but we all 
knew it was whiskey. That which smote the 
villain in the dark alley smote down the great 
orator and the great legislator. The one you 
wrapped in a rough cloth, and pushed into a 
rough coffin, and carried out in a box waggon, and 
let him down into a pauper's grave, without 
a prayer or a benediction. Around the other 
gathered the pomp of the land ; and lordly men 
walked with uncovered heads beside the hearse 
tossing with plumes on the way to a grave to be 
adorned with a white marble shaft, all four sides 
covered with eulogium. The one man was killed 
by logwood rum at two cents a glass, the other by 
a beverage three dollars a bottle. I write both 
their epitaphs. I write the one epitaph with my 
lead pencil on the shingle over the pauper's grave ; 
I write the other epitaph with a chisel, cutting on 
the white marble of the senator : 6 6 Slain by 
strong drink." The time came when dissipation 



INTEMPERANCE 



45 



was no longer a hindrance to office in this coun- 
try. Did we not at one time have a Secretary 
of the United States carried home dead drunk ? 
Did we not have a Vice-President sworn in so 
intoxicated the whole land hid its head in shame ? 
Judges and jurors and attorneys sometimes 
tried important cases by day, and by night 
caroused together in iniquity. 

During the war whiskey had done its share in 
disgracing manhood. What was it that de- 
feated the armies sometimes in the late war? 
Drunkenness in the saddle ! What mean those 
graves on the heights of Fredericksburg? As 
you go to Richmond you see them. Drunk- 
enness in the saddle. In place of the blood- 
shed of war, came the deformations of character, 
libertinism ! 

Again and again it was demonstrated that 
impurity walked under the chandeliers of the 
mansion, and dozed on damask upholstery. 
In Albany, in Harrisburg, in Trenton, in 
Washington, intemperance was rife in public 
places. 

The two political parties remained silent on the 
question. Hand in hand with intemperance 
went the crime of bribery by money — by proffered 
office. 

For many years after the war had been almost 
forgotten, in many of the legislatures it was im- 
possible to get a bill through unless it had 
financial consideration. 

The question was asked softly, sometimes very 
softly, in regard to a bill : " Is there any money 
in it ? " And the lobbies of the Legislatures and 
the National Capitol were crowded with railroad 
men and manufacturers and contractors. The 
iniquity became so great that sometimes re- 
formers and philanthropists have been laughed 



46 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



out of Harrisburg, and Albany, and Trenton, and 
Washington, because they came emptv-handed. 
" You vote for this bill, and I'll vote for that bill." 
" You favour that monopoly of a moneyed insti- 
tution, and I'll favour the other monopoly of 
another institution." And here is a bill that is 
going to be very hard to get through the Legis- 
lature, and some friends met together at a 
midnight banquet, and while intoxicated promised 
to vote the same way. Here are $5,000 for pru- 
dent distribution in this direction, and here are 
$1,000 for prudent distribution in that direction. 
Now, we are within four votes of having enough. 
$5,000 to that intelligent member from West- 
chester, and $2,000 to that stupid member from 
Ulster, and now we are within two votes of 
having it. Give $500 to this member, who will be 
sick and stay at home, and $300 to this member, 
who will go to see his great-aunt languishing in 
her last sickness. The day has come for the 
passing of the bill. The Speaker's gavel strikes. 
" Senators, are you ready for the question ? 
All in favour of voting away these thousands of 
millions of dollars will say, 6 Ay.' " " Av ! Ay ! 
Ay ! Ay ! " " The Ays have it." It was' a 
merciful thing that all this corruption went on 
under a republican form of government. Any 
other style of government would have been 
consumed by it long ago. There were enough 
national swindles enacted in this country after 
the war — yes, thirty years afterwards — to swamp 
three monarchies. 

The Democratic party filled its cup of iniquity 
as it went out of power, before the war. Then 
the Republican party came along and it filled 
its cup of iniquity a little sooner; and there 
they lie, the Democratic party and the Re- 
publican party, side by side, great loathsome 



REMINISCENCES 



47 



carcasses of iniquity, each one worse than the 
other. 

These are reminiscences of more than thirty 
years ago, and yet it seems that I have never 
ceased to fight the same sort of human tempta- 
tions and frailties to this very day. 



THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



1862—1877 

I spent seven of the most delightful years of my 
life in Philadelphia. What wonderful Gospel 
men were round me in the City of Brotherly Love 
at this time — such men as Rev. Alfred Barnes, 
Rev. Dr. Boardman, Rev. Dr. Berg, Rev. Charles 
Wadsworth, and many others equally distin- 
guished. I should probably never have left 
Philadelphia except that I was afraid I would 
get too lazy. Being naturally indolent I wanted 
to get somewhere where I would be compelled to 
work. I have sometimes felt that I was naturally 
the laziest man ever born. I am afraid of indo- 
lence — as afraid of indolence as any reformed 
inebriate is afraid of the wine cup. He knows 
if he shall take one glass he will be flung back 
into inebriety. I am afraid, if I should take 
one long pull of nothing to do, I should stop 
forever. 

My church in Philadelphia was a large one, and 
it was crowded with lovely people. All that a 
congregation could do for a pastor's happiness 
they were doing, and always had done. 

We ministers living in Philadelphia at this 

4 8 



A MINISTERIAL BALL CLUB 49 



time may have felt the need for combating in- 
dolence, for we had a ministerial ball club, and twice 
a week the clergymen of all denominations went 
out to the suburbs of the city and played base- 
ball. We went back to our pulpits, spirits light- 
ened, theology improved, and able to do better 
service for the cause of God than we could have 
done without that healthful shaking up. 

The reason so many ministers think everything 
is going to ruin is because their circulation is 
lethargic, or their lungs are in need of inflection 
by outdoor exercise. I have often wished since 
that this splendid idea among the ministers in 
Philadelphia could have been emulated elsewhere. 
Every big city should have its ministerial ball 
club. We want this glorious game rescued from 
the roughs and put into the hands of those who 
will employ it in recuperation. 

My life in Philadelphia was so busy that I 
must have had very little time for keeping any 
record or note-books. Most of my warmest and 
life-long friendships were made in Philadelphia, 
however, and in the retrospect of the years since 
I left there I have sometimes wondered how I 
ever found courage to say good-bye. 

I was amazed and gratified one day at receiving 
a call from four of the most prominent churches 
at that time in America : Calvary Church of 
Chicago, the Union Church of Boston, the 
First Presbyterian Church of San Francisco, and 
the Central Church of Brooklyn. These invita- 
tions all came simultaneously in February, 1869. 
The committees from these various churches 
called upon me at my house in Philadelphia. It 
was a period of anxious uncertainty with me. 
One morning, I remember, a committee from 
Chicago was in one room, a committee from 
Brooklyn in another room of my house, and a 

E 



/ 



50 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



committee from my Philadelphia church in 
another room. My wife* passed from room to 
room entertaining them to keep the three com- 
mittees from meeting. It would have been 
unpleasant for them to meet. 

At this point my Syracuse remembrance of 
perplexity returned, and I resolved to stay in 
Philadelphia unless God made it very plain that 
I was to go and where I was to go. An engage- 
ment to speak that night in Harrisburg, Pennsyl- 
vania, took me to the depot. I got on the train, 
my mind full of the arguments of the three com- 
mittees, and all a bewilderment. I stretched 
myself out upon the seats for a sound sleep, 
saying, " Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do ? 
Make it plain to me when I wake up." When I 
awoke I was entering Harrisburg, and as plainly 
as though the voice had been audible God said 
to me, " Go to Brooklyn." I went, and never 
have doubted that I did right to go. It is always 
best to stay where you are until God gives you 
marching orders, and then move on. 

I succeeded the Rev. J. E. Rockwell in the 
Brooklyn Church, who resigned only a month or 
so before I accepted the call. Mr. Charles Cravat 
Converse, LL.D., an elder of the Church, 
presented the call to me, being appointed to do so 
by the Board of Trustees and the Session, after I 
had been unanimously elected by the congrega- 
tion at a special meeting for that purpose held 
on February 16, 1869. The salary fixed was 
87,000, payable monthly. 

In looking over an old note-book I carried in 
that year I find, under date of March 22, 1869, 
the word "installed" written in my own hand- 



* In 1863, Dr. Talmage married his second wife, Miss Susan C. Whittemore, 
of Greenport, N.Y. They had five children : May, Edith, Frank, Maud, 

and Daisy. 



MY CALL TO BROOKLYN 51 



writing. It was written in pencil after the ser- 
vice of installation held in the church that 
Monday evening. The event is recorded in the 
minutes of the regular meetings of the church 
as follows : 

" Monday evening, March 22, the Rev. T. 
DeWitt Talmage having been received as a 
member of the Presbytery of Nassau, was this 
evening installed pastor of this church. The Rev. 
C. S. Pomeroy preached the sermon and proposed 
the constitutional questions. Rev. Mr. Oakley 
delivered the charge to the pastor, and Rev. 
Henry Van Dyke, D.D., delivered the charge to 
the people; and the services were closed with 
the benediction by the pastor, and a cordial 
shaking of hands by the people with their new 
pastor." 

The old church stood on Schemerhorn Street, 
between Nevins and Power Streets. It was a 
much smaller church community than the one I 
had left in Philadelphia, but there was a glorious 
opportunity for work in it. I remember hearing 
a minister of a small congregation complain to a 
minister of a large congregation about the sparse- 
ness of attendance at his church. " Oh," said 
the one of large audience, " my son, you will find 
in the day of judgment that you had quite enough 
people for whom to be held accountable." 

My church in Brooklyn prospered. In about 
three months from the date of my installation it 
was too small to hold the people who came there 
to worship. This came about, not through any 
special demonstration of my own superior gifts, 
but by the help of God and the persecution of 
others. 

During my pastorate in Brooklyn a certain 
group of preachers began to slander me and to 
say all manner of lies about me ; I suppose 



52 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



because they were jealous of my success. These 
calumnies were published in every important 
newspaper in the country. The result was that 
the New York correspondents of the leading 
papers in the chief cities of the United States came 
to my church on Sundays, expecting I would 
make counter attacks, which would be good news. 
I never said a word in reply, with the exception of 
a single paragraph. 

The correspondents were after news, and, failing 
to get the sensational charges, they took down 
the sermons and sent them to the newspaper. 

Many times have I been maligned and my 
work misrepresented ; but all such falsehood and 
persecution have turned out for my advantage 
and enlarged my work. 

Whoever did escape it ? 

I was one summer in the pulpit of John Wesley, 
in London — a pulpit where he stood one day and 
said : "I have been charged with all the crimes 
in the calendar except one — that of drunken- 
ness," and his wife arose in the audience and 
said : " You know you were drunk last night." 

I saw in a foreign journal a report of one of 
George Whitefield's sermons — a sermon preached 
a hundred and twenty or thirty years ago. It 
seemed that the reporter stood to take the sermon, 
and his chief idea was to caricature it, and these 
are some of the reportorial interlinings of the 
sermon of George Whitefield. After calling him by 
a nickname indicative of a physical defect in the 
eye, it goes on to say : " Here the preacher clasps 
his chin on the pulpit cushion. Here he elevates 
his voice. Here he lowers his voice. Holds his 
arms extended. Bawls aloud. Stands trembling. 
Makes a frightful face. Turns up the whites of 
his eyes. Clasps his hands behind him. Clasps 
his arms around him, and hugs himself. Roars 



THE CHURCH A HOME CIRCLE 53 



aloud. Holloas. Jumps. Cries. Changes from 
crying. Holloas and jumps again." 

One would have thought that if any man ought 
to have been free from persecution it was George 
Whitefield, bringing great masses of the people 
into the kingdom of God, wearing himself out for 
Christ's sake : and yet the learned Dr. Johnson 
called him a mountebank. Robert Hall preached 
about the glories of heaven as no uninspired man 
ever preached about them, and it was said when 
he preached about heaven his face shone like an 
angel's, and yet good Christian John Foster 
writes of Robert Hall, saying : " Robert Hall is a 
mere actor, and when he talks about heaven the 
smile on his face is the reflection of his own 
vanity." John Wesley stirred all England with 
reform, and yet he was caricatured by all the 
small wits of his day. He was pictorialised, history 
says, on the board fences of London, and every- 
where he was the target for the punsters ; yet 
John Wesley stands to-day before all Christendom, 
his name mighty. I have preached a Gospel that 
is not only appropriate to the home circle, but is 
appropriate to Wall Street, to Broadway, to 
Fulton Street, to Montague Street, to Atlantic 
Street, to every street — not only a religion that 
is good for half past ten o'clock Sunday morning, 
but good for half past ten o'clock any morning. 
This was one of the considerations in my work as 
a preacher of the Gospel that extended its 
usefulness. A practical religion is what we all 
need. In my previous work at Belleville, N.J., 
and in Syracuse, I had absorbed other con- 
siderations of necessity in the business of 
uniting the human character with the church 
character. 

Although the Central Presbyterian Church in 
Brooklyn of which I was pastor was one of the 



54 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



largest buildings in that city then, it did not 
represent my ideal of a church. 

I learned in my village pastorates that the 
Church ought to be a great home circle of fathers, 
mothers, brothers, and sisters. That would be a 
very strange home circle where the brothers and 
sisters did not know each other, and where the 
parents were characterised by frigidity and heart- 
lessness. The Church must be a great family 
group — the pulpit the fireplace, the people all 
gathered around it. I think we sometimes can 
tell the people to stay out by our church archi- 
tecture. People come in and find things angular 
and cold and stiff, and they go away never again 
to come ; when the church ought to be a great 
home circle. 

I knew a minister of religion who had his fourth 
settlement. His first two churches became ex- 
tinct as a result of his ministry, the third church 
was hopelessly crippled, and the fourth was saved 
simply by the fact that he departed this life. 
On the other hand, I have seen pastorates which 
continued year after year, all the time strength- 
ening, and I have heard of instances where the 
pastoral relation continued twenty years, thirty 
years, forty years, and all the time the confidence 
and the love were on the increase. So it was with 
the pastorate of old Dr. Spencer, so it was with 
the pastorate of old Dr. Gardiner Spring, so it was 
with the pastorate of a great many of those old 
ministers of Jesus Christ, of whom the world was 
not worthy. 

I saw an opportunity to establish in Brooklyn 
just such a church as I had in my mind's eye — 
a Tabernacle, where all the people who wanted to 
hear the Gospel preached could come in and be 
comfortable. I projected, designed, and success- 
fully established the Brooklyn Tabernacle within 



THE FIRST BROOKLYN TABERNACLE 55 



a little over a year after preaching my first sermon 
in Brooklyn. The church seated 3,500 people, 
and yet we were compelled to use the old church 
to take care of all our active Christian work 
besides. 

The first Brooklyn Tabernacle was, I believe, 
the most buoyant expression of my work that I 
ever enjoyed. It drew upon all my energies and 
resources, and as the sacred walls grew up towards 
the skies, I prayed God that I might have the 
strength and spiritual energy to grow with it. 

Prayer always meets the emergency, no matter 
how difficult it may be. 

That was the substantial backing of the first 
Brooklyn Tabernacle — prayer. Prayer furnished 
the means as well as the faith that was behind 
them. I was merely the promoter, the agent, of a 
company organised in Heaven to perpetuate the 
Gospel of Christ. It was considered a great thing 
to have done, and many were the reasons whis- 
pered by the worldly and the envious and the 
orthodox, for its success. Some said it was due 
to magnetism. 

As a cord or rope can bind bodies together, 
there may be an invisible cord binding souls. A 
magnetic man throws it over others as a hunter 
throws a lasso. Some men are surcharged with 
this influence, and have employed it for patriotism 
and Christianity and elevated purposes. 

It is always a surprise to a great majority of 
people how churches are built, how money for 
which the world has so many other uses can be 
obtained to build churches. There are names of 
men and women whom I have only to mention 
and they suggest at once not only great wealth, 
but religion, generosity, philanthropy, such as 
Amos Laurence, James Lennox, Peter Cooper, 
William E. Dodge, Miss Wolfe, Mrs. William Astor. 



56 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



A good moral character can be accompanied by 
affluent circumstances. 

In the '70's and '80's in Brooklyn and in New 
York there were merchants who had prospered, 
but by Christian methods — merchants who took 
their religion into everyday life. I became 
accustomed, Sabbath after Sabbath, to stand 
before an audience of bargain-makers. Men in 
all occupations — yet the vast majority of them, I 
am very well aware, were engaged from Monday 
morning to Saturday night in the store. In many 
of the families of my congregations across the 
breakfast table and the tea table were discussed 
questions of loss and gain. " What is the value of 
this ? What is the value of that ? " They would 
not think of giving something of greater value for 
that which is of lesser value. They would not 
think of selling that which cost ten dollars for 
five dollars. If they had a property that 
was worth $15,000, they would not sell it for 
$4,000. All were intelligent in matters of bargain- 
making. 

But these were not the sort of men who made 
generous investments for God's House. There 
was one that sort, however, among my earliest 
remembrances, Arthur Tappen. There were 
many differences of opinion about his politics, 
but no one who ever knew Arthur Tappen, and 
knew him well, doubted his being an earnest 
Christian. Arthur Tappen was derided in his day 
because he established that system by which we 
come to find out the commercial standing of 
business men. He started that entire [system, 
was derided for it then ; I knew him well, in 
moral character Al. Monday mornings he in- 
vited to a room in the top of his storehouse in New 
York the clerks of his establishment. He would 
ask them about their worldly interests and their 



EAST HAMPTON 



57 



spiritual interests, then giving out a hymn and 
leading in prayer he would give them a few words 
of good advice, asking them what church they 
attended on the Sabbath, what the text was, 
whether they had any especial troubles of their 
own. 

Arthur Tappen, I have never heard his eulogy 
pronounced. I pronounce it now. There were 
other merchants just as good — William E. Dodge 
in the iron business, Moses H. Grinnell in the 
shipping business, Peter Cooper in the glue 
business, and scores of men just as good as they 
were. 

I began my work of enlarging and improving 
the Brooklyn Church almost the week following 
my installation. My first vacation, a month, 
began on June 25, 1869, the trustees of the 
church having signified and ordered repairs, 
alterations and improvements at a meeting held 
that day, and further suspending Sabbath ser- 
vices for four weeks. I spent part of my vacation 
at East Hampton, L.I., going from there for two 
or three short lecturing trips. I find that I can 
never rest over two weeks. More than that 
wearies me. Of all the places I have ever known 
East Hampton is the best place for quiet and 
recuperation. 

I became acquainted with it through my brother- 
in-law, Rev. S. L. Mershon. His first pastorate 
was at the Presbyterian Church in East Hampton, 
where, as a young man, I preached some of my 
first sermons. East Hampton is always home to 
me. When a boy in grammar-school and college 
I used to visit my brother-in-law and his wife, my 
sister Mary. Later in life I established a summer 
home there myself. I particularly recall one 
incident of this month's vacation that has affected 
my whole life. One day while resting at Sharon 



58 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



Springs, New York, walking in the Park of that 
place, I found myself asking the question : "I 
wonder if there is any special mission for me to 
execute in this world ? If there is, may God 
show it to me ! " 

There soon came upon me a great desire to 
preach the Gospel through the secular printing- 
press. I realised that the vast majority of people, 
even in Christian lands, never enter a church, and 
that it would be an opportunity of usefulness in- 
finite if that door of publication were opened. 
And so I recorded that prayer in a blank book, 
and offered the prayer day in and day out until 
the answer came, though in a way different from 
that which I had expected, for it came through 
the misrepresentation and persecution of enemies ; 
and I have to record it for the encouragement of 
all ministers of the Gospel who are misrepresented, 
that if the misrepresentation be virulent enough 
and bitter enough and continuous enough, there 
is nothing that so widens one's field of usefulness 
as hostile attack, if you are really doing the Lord's 
work. The bigger the lie told about me the 
bigger the demand to see and hear what I really 
was doing. From one stage of sermonic publica- 
tion to another the work has gone on, until week 
by week, and for about twenty-three years, I have 
had the world for my audience as no man ever 
had. The syndicates inform me that my sermons 
go now to about twenty-five millions of people 
in all lands. I mention this not in vain boast, 
but as a testimony to the fact that God 
answers prayer. Would God I had better occu- 
pied the field and been more consecrated to the 
work ! 

The following summer, or rather early spring, 
I requested an extension of my vacation time, in 
order to carry out a plan to visit the " Old 



FIRST VISIT TO THE OLD WOELD 59 



World." As the trustees of the church consi- 
dered that the trip might be of value to the 
church as well as to myself, I was given 64 leave 
of absence from pastoral duties " for three months' 
duty from June 18, 1870. All that I could do 
had been done in the plans in constructing the 
new Tabernacle. I could do nothing by staying 
at home. 

I have crossed the Atlantic so often that the 
recollections of this first trip to Europe are, at this 
writing, merely general. I think the most 
terrific impression I received was my first sight 
of the ocean the morning after we sailed, the 
most instructive were the ruins of church and 
abbey and palaces. I walked up and down 
the stairs of Holyrood Palace, once upon a time 
considered one of the wonders of the world, and 
I marvelled that so little was left of such a wonder- 
ful place. Ruins should be rebuilt. 

The most spiritual impression I received was 
from the music of church organs in the old world. 

I stopped one nightfall at Freyburg, Switzer- 
land, to hear the organ of world-wide celebrity 
in that place. I went into the cathedral at night- 
fall. All the accessories were favourable. There 
was only one light in all the cathedral, and that 
a faint taper on the altar. I looked up into the 
venerable arches and saw the shadows of cen- 
turies ; and when the organ awoke the cathedral 
awoke, and all the arches seemed to lift and 
quiver as the music came under them. That 
instrument did not seem to be made out of wood 
and metal, but out of human hearts, so wonder- 
fully did it pulsate with every emotion ; now 
laughing like a child, now sobbing like a tempest. 
At one moment the music would die away until 
you could hear the cricket chirp outside the wall, 
and then it would roll up until it seemed as if 



60 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



the surge of the sea and the crash of an avalanche 
had struck the organ-pipes at the same moment. 
At one time that night it seemed as if a squadron 
of saddened spirits going up from earth had met 
a squadron of descending angels whose glory 
beat back the woe. 

In Edinburgh I met Dr. John Brown, author 
of the celebrated " Rab and his Friends." That 
one treatise gave him immortality and fame, 
and yet he was taken at his own request to the 
insane asylum and died insane. 

" What are you writing now, Dr. Brown ? " 
I said to him in his study in Edinburgh. 

" Oh, nothing," he replied, " I never could 
write. I shall never try again." 

I saw on his face and heard in his voice that 
melancholy that so often unhorsed him. 

I went to Paris for the first time in this summer 
of 1870. It was during the Franco-German war. 
I stood studying the exquisite sculpturing of the 
gate of the Tuileries. Lost in admiration of the 
wonderful art of that gate I knew not that I was 
exciting suspicion. Lowering my eyes to the 
crowds of people I found myself being closely 
inspected by government officials, who from my 
complexion judged me to be a German, and that 
for some belligerent purpose I might be examining 
the gates of the palace. My explanations in very 
poor French did not satisfy them, and they 
followed me long distances until I reached my 
hotel, and were not satisfied until from my 
landlord they found that I was only an inoffensive 
American. Inoffensive Americans were quite as 
welcome in Europe in 1870 as they are now. I 
was not curious of the signs I found anywhere 
about me of aristocratic grandeur, of the deference 
paid to lineage and ancient family name. I know 
in America some people look back on the family 



DEDICATING THE FIRST TABERNACLE 61 



line, and they are proud to see that they are 
descended from the Puritans or the Huguenots, 
and they rejoice in that as though their ancestors 
had accomplished a great thing to repudiate a 
Catholic aristocracy. 

I look back on my family line, and I see there 
such a mingling and mixture of the blood of all 
nationalities that I feel akin to all the world. I 
returned from my first visit to Europe more 
thankful than ever for the mercy of having been 
born in America. The trip did me immeasurable 
good. It strengthened my faith in the breadth 
and simplicity of a broadminded religion. We 
must take care how we extend our invitation to 
the Church, that it be understandable to every- 
one. People don't want the scientific study of 
religion. 

On Sunday morning, September 25, 1870, the 
new Tabernacle erected on Schemerhorn Street 
was dedicated to the worship of Almighty God. 
It was to my mind a common-sense church, as 
I had planned it to be. In many of our churches 
we want more light, more room, more ventilation, 
more comfort. Vast sums of money are expended 
on ecclesiastical structures, and men sit down 
in them, and you ask a man how he likes the 
church : he says, " I like it very well, but I 
can't hear." The voice of the preacher dashes 
against the pillars. Men sit down under the 
shadows of the Gothic arches and shiver, and 
feel they must be getting religion, or something 
else, they feel so uncomfortable. 

We want more common sense in the rearing 
of churches. There is no excuse for lack of light 
when the heavens are full of it, no excuse for lack 
of fresh air when the world swims in it. It ought 
to be an expression, not only of our spiritual 
happiness, but of our physical comfort, when we 



62 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



say : " How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O 
Lord God of Hosts ! A day in Thy courts is 
better than a thousand." 

My dedication sermon was from Luke xiv. 23, 
" And the Lord said unto the servants, go out 
into the highways and hedges, and compel them 
to come in that my house may be filled." The 
Rev. T. G. Butter, D.D., offered the dedicatory 
prayer. Other clergymen, whose names I do not 
recall, were present and assisted at the services. 
The congregation in attendance was very large, 
and at the close of the services a subscription 
and collection were taken up amounting to 
$13,000, towards defraying the expenses and 
cost of the church. 

In less than a year later the congregation had 
grown so large and the attendance of strangers 
so pressing that the new church was enlarged 
again, and on September 10, 1871, the Taber- 
nacle was rededicated with impressive services. 
The sermon was preached by my friend the Rev. 
Stephen H. Tyng, D.D. He was a great worker, 
and suffered, as many of us in the pulpit do, 
from insomnia. He was the consecrated champion 
of everything good, a constant sufferer from the 
lash of active work. He often told me that the 
only encouragement he had to think he would 
sleep at night was the fact that he had not slept 
the night before. Insomnia may be only a big 
word for those who do not understand its effect. 
It has stimulated intellectuality, and exhausted 
it. One of the greatest English clergymen had 
a gas jet on each side of his bed, so that he might 
read at nights when he could not sleep. Horace 
Greeley told me he had not had a sound sleep in fif- 
teen years. Charles Dickens understood London by 
night better than any other writer, because not being 
able to sleep he spent that time in exploring the city. 



A SPECIAL SEASON OF THANKSGIVING 63 



I preached at the evening service from the 
text in Luke xvi. 5 : " How much owest thou 
unto my Lord ? " It was a wonderful day for us 
all. Enough money was taken in by collections 
and subscriptions at the morning and evening 
services to pay the floating debt of the church. 
We received that one day $21,000. 

I quote the following resolution made at a 
meeting in my study the next Thursday evening 
of the Session, from the records of the Tabernacle : 

" In regard to the payment of the floating 
debt of this church and congregation, the Session 
adopted the following resolution, viz. : — 

" In view of the manifest instance that God 
has heard the supplications of this people re- 
garding the floating debt of the Church, and so 
directed their hearts as to accomplish the object, 
it is therefore resolved that we set apart next 
Wednesday evening as a special season of religious 
thanksgiving to God for his great goodness to us 
as a Church, in granting unto us this deliverance." 

I reverently and solemnly believe the new 
Tabernacle was built by prayer. 

My congregation with great munificence pro- 
vided for all my wants, and so I can speak without 
any embarrassment on the subject while I de- 
nounce the niggardliness of many of the churches 
of Jesus Christ, keeping some men, who are very 
apostles for piety and consecration, in circum- 
stances where they are always apologetic, and 
have not that courage which they would have 
could they stand in the presence of people whom 
they knew were faithful in the discharge of their 
financial duties to the Christian Church. Alas, 
for those men of whom the world is not worthy! 
In the United States to-day the salary of ministers 
averages less than six hundred dollars, and when 
you consider that some of the salaries are very 



64 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



large, see to what straits many of God's noblest 
servants are this day reduced ! A live church will 
look after all its financial interests and be as 
prompt in the meeting of those obligations as 
any bank in any city. 

My church in Brookhm prospered because it 
was a soul-saving church. It has always been 
the ambition of my own church that it should be 
a soul-saving church. Pardon for all sin ! Com- 
fort for all trouble ! Eternal life for all the dead ! 

Moral conditions in the cities of New York 
and Brooklyn were deplorably bad during the 
first few years I went there to preach. There 
was an onslaught of bad literature and stage 
immorality. For instance, there was a lady who 
came forth as an authoress under the assumed 
name of George Sand. She smoked cigars. She 
dressed like a man. She wrote in style ardent 
and eloquent, mighty in its gloom, terrible in 
its unchastity, vivid in its portraiture, damnable 
in its influence, putting forth an evil which has 
never relaxed, but has hundreds of copyists. Yet 
so much worse were many French books that 
came to America than anything George Sand 
ever wrote, that if she were alive now she might 
be thought almost a reformer. What an importa- 
tion of unclean theatrical stuff was brought to 
our shores at that time ! And yet professors of 
religion patronised such things. I remember 
particularly the arrival of a foreign actress of 
base morals. She came intending to make a 
tour of the States, but the remaining decency 
of our cities rose up and cancelled her contracts, 
and drove her back from the American stage, 
a woman fit for neither continent. I hope I was 
instrumental to some degree in her banishment. 
We were crude in our morals then. I hope we 
are not merely civilised in them to-day. I hope 



THE BURNING OF THE TABERNACLE 65 



we understand how to live better than we did 
then. 

Scarcely a year after the final dedication of our 
Tabernacle in 1871 it was completely burned, 
just before a morning Sabbath service in December, 
1872. 

I remember that Sabbath morning. I was 
coming to the church, when I saw the smoke 
against the sky. I was living in an outlying 
section of the city. I had been absent for three 
weeks, and, as I saw that smoke, I said to my 
wife : "I should not wonder if that is the 
Tabernacle"; at the same time, this was said in 
pleasantry and not in earnest. As we came on 
nearer where the church stood, I said quite 
seriously : "I shouldn't wonder if it is the 
Tabernacle." 

When I came within a few blocks, and I saw a 
good many people in distress running across the 
street, I said : " It is the Tabernacle " ; and when 
we stood together in front of the burning house 
of God, it was an awfully sad time. We had stood 
together through all the crises of suffering, and 
we must needs build a church in the very hardest 
of times. 

To put up a structure in those days, and so 
large a structure and so firm a structure as we 
needed, was a very great demand upon our ener- 
gies. The fact that we had to make that struggle 
in the worst financial period was doubly hard. 

It was a merciful providence that none of the 
congregation was in the church at the time. It 
was an appalling situation. In spite of the best 
efforts of the fire department, the building was 
in ruins in a few hours. My congregation was 
in despair, but, in the face of trial, God has 
always given me all but superhuman strength. 
In a thousand ways I had been blessed ; the Gospel 

F 



66 THE FOURTH MILESTONE 



I had preached could not stop then, I knew, and 
while my people were completely discouraged I 
immediately planned for a newer, larger, more 
complete Tabernacle. We needed more room for 
the increasing attendance, and I realised that 
opportunity again was mine. 

We continued our services in the Academy of 
Music, in Brooklyn, wiiile the new Tabernacle 
was being built. Not for a minute did I relax 
my energies to keep up the work of a practical 
religion. There were 300,000 people in Brooklyn 
who had never heard the Gospel preached, an 
army worthy of Christian interest. There was 
room for these 300,000 people in the churches 
of the city. 

There was plenty of room in heaven for them. 

An ingenious statistician, taking the statement 
made in Revelation xxi. that the heavenly 
Jerusalem was measured and found to be twelve 
thousand furlongs, and that the length and height 
and breadth of it are equal, says that would make 
heaven in size nine hundred and forty-eight 
sextillion, nine hundred and eighty-eight quin- 
tillion cubic feet ; and then reserving a certain 
portion for the court of heaven and the streets, 
and estimating that the world may last a hundred 
thousand years, he ciphers out that there are 
over five trillion rooms, each room seventeen feet 
long, sixteen feet wide, fifteen feet high. But I 
have no faith in the accuracy of that calculation. 
He makes the rooms too small. From all I can 
read the rooms will be palatial, and those who 
have not had enough room in this world will 
have plenty of room at the last. The fact is 
that most people in this world are crowded, and 
though out on a vast prairie or in a mountain 
district people may have more room than they 
want, in most cases it is house built close to 



THE NEW TABERNACLE 67 



house, and the streets are crowded, and the 
cradle is crowded by other cradles, and the 
graves crowded in the cemetery by other graves ; 
and one of the richest luxuries of many people 
in getting out of this world will be the gaining 
of unhindered and uncramped room. And I 
should not wonder if, instead of the room that 
the statistician ciphered out as only seventeen 
feet by sixteen, it should be larger than any of the 
rooms at Berlin, St. James, or Winter Palace. 

So we built an exceedingly large church. The 
new Tabernacle seated comfortably 5,000 people. 
It was open on February 22, 1874, for worship, 
and completed a few months later. 



THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



1877—1879 

Without boast it may be said that I was among 
those men who with eager and persistent vigi- 
lance made the heart of Brooklyn feel the Christ- 
ian purpose of the pulpit, and the utility of 
religion in everyday life. The fifteen years 
following the dedication of the new Tabernacle 
in 1872 mark the most active milestone of my 
career as a preacher. 

A minister's recollections are confined to his 
interpretation of the life about him; the men he 
knows, the events he sees, the good and the bad 
of his environment and his period become the 
loose leaves that litter his study table. 

I was in the prime of life, just forty years of 
age. From my private note-books and other 
sources I begin recollections of the most signi- 
ficant years in Brooklyn, preceding the local 
elections in 1877. New York and Brooklyn 
were playmates then, seeming rivals, but by 
predestined fate bound to grow closer together. 
I said then that we need not wait for the three 
bridges which would certainly bind them to- 
gether. The ferry-boat then touching either 
side was only the thump of one great municipal 



68 

/ 



CORRUPT POLITICS 69 



heart. It was plain to me that this greater 
Metropolis, standing at the gate of this continent, 
would have to decide the moral and political 
destinies of the whole country. 

Prior to the November Elections in 1877, the 
only cheering phase of politics in Brooklyn and 
New York was that there were no lower political 
depths to reach. 

There was in New York at that time political 
infamy greater than the height of Trinity Church 
steeple, more stupendous in finance than the 
§10,000,000 spent in building their new Court 
House. It was a fact that the most notorious 
gambler in the United States was to get the nom- 
ination for the high office of State Senator. Both 
Democrats and Republicans struggled for his 
election — John Morrisey, hailed as a reformer ! 
On behalf of all the respectable homes of Brooklyn 
and New York I protested against his election. 
He had been indicted for burglary, indicted for 
assault and battery with intent to kill, indicted 
eighteen times for maintaining gambling places 
in different parts of the country. He almost 
made gambling respectable. Tweed trafficked in 
contracts, Morrisey in the bodies and souls of 
young men. The District Attorney of New York 
advocated him, and prominent Democrats talked 
themselves hoarse for him. This nomination 
was a determined effort of the slums of New York 
to get representation in the State Government. 
It was argued that he had reformed. The police 
of New York knew better. 

In Brooklyn the highest local offices in 1877, 
those of the Collector, Police Commissioners, Fire 
Commission, Treasurer, and the City Works Com- 
missioners, were under the controlfof one Patrick 
Shannon, owner of two gin mills. Wearing the 
mask of reformers the most astute and villainous 



70 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



politicians piloted themselves into power. They 
were all elected, and it was necessary. It was 
necessary that New York should elect the fore- 
most gambler of the United States for State 
Senator, before the people of New York could 
realise the depths of degradation to which the 
politics of that time could sink. If Tweed had 
stolen only half as much as he did, investigation 
and discovery and reform would have been im- 
possible. The re-election of Morrisey was neces- 
sary. He was elected not by the vote of his old 
partisans alone, but by Republicans. Hamilton 
Fish, General Grant's secretary, voted for him. 
Peter Cooper, the friend of education and the 
founder of a great institute, voted for him. The 
brown-stone-fronts voted for him. The Fifth 
Avenue equipage voted for him. Murray Hill 
voted for him. Meanwhile gambling was made 
honourable. And so the law-breaker became the 
law- maker. 

Among a large and genteel community in 
Brooklyn there was a feeling that they were 
independent of politics. No one can be so. It 
was felt in the home and in the business offices. 
It was an influence that poisoned all the foundations 
of public and private virtue in Brooklyn and New 
York. The conditions of municipal immorality 
and wickedness were the worst at this time that 
ever confronted the pulpits of the City of Churches, 
as Brooklyn was called. 

There was one bright spot in the dark horizon 
of life around me then, however, which I greeted 
with much pleasure and amusement. 

In the early part of November, 1877, President 
Hayes offered to Colonel Robert Ingersoll the ap- 
pointment of Minister to Germany. The President 
was a Methodist, and perhaps he thought that 
was a grand solution of Ingersollism. It was a 



ROBERT INGERSOLL 71 



mirthful event of the hour — the joke of the 
administration. Germany was the birthplace 
of what was then modern infidelity, Colonel 
Ingersoll had been filling the land with belated 
inndelism. 

On the stage of the Academy of Music in 
Brooklyn he had attacked the memory of Tom 
Paine, assaulted the character of Rev. Dr. Prime, 
one of my neighbours, the Nestor of religious 
journalism, and on that same stage expressed his 
opinion that God was a great Ghost. This action 
of President Hayes kept me smiling for a week — I 
appreciated the joke among others. 

During this month the American Stage suffered 
the loss of three celebrities : Edwin Adams, George 
L. Fox, and E. L. Davenport. While the Theatre 
never interested me, and I never entered one, I 
cannot criticise the dead. Four years before in 
the Tabernacle I preached a sermon against the 
Theatre. I saw there these men, sitting in pews 
in front of me, and that was the only time. 
They were taking notes of my discourse, to which 
they made public replies on the stage of the 
Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, and on 
other stages at the close of their performances. 
Whatever they may have said of me, I stood 
uncovered in the presence of the dead, while the 
curtain of the great future went up on them. My 
sympathy was with the destitute households 
left behind. Public benefits relieved this. I 
would to God clergymen were as liberal to the 
families of deceased clergymen as play-actors to 
the families of dead play-actors. What a toil- 
some life, the play-actor's ! On the 25th of March, 
1833, Edmund Kean, sick and exhausted, trem- 
bled on to the English stage for the last time, 
when he acted in the character of Othello. The 
audience rose and cheered, and the waving of hats 



72 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



and handkerchiefs was bewildering, and when he 
came to the expression, "Farewell! Othello's 
occupation's gone ! " his chin fell on his breast, and 
he turned to his son and said : 44 O God, I am 
dying ! speak to them Charles," and the audience 
in sympathy cried, 44 Take him off ! take him 
off ! " and he was carried away to die. Poor 
Edmund Kean ! When Schiller, the famous 
comedian, was tormented with toothache, some 
one offered to draw the tooth. 44 No," said he, 
44 but on the 10th of June, when the house closes, 
you may draw the tooth, for then I shall have 
nothing to eat with it." The impersonation of 
character is often the means of destroying health. 
Moliere, the comedian, acted the sick man until 
it proved fatal to him. Madame Clarion accounts 
for her premature old age by the fact that she had 
been obliged so often on the stage to enact the 
griefs and distresses of others. Mr. Bond threw 
so much earnestness into the tragedy of 44 Zarah," 
that he fainted and died. The life of the actor 
and actress is wearing and full of privation and 
annoyance, as is any life that depends upon the 
whims of the public for success. 

One of the events in Church matters, towards 
the close of this year, was a pastoral letter of the 
Episcopal Bishops against Church fairs. So many 
churches were holding fairs then, they were 
a recognised social attribute of the Church family. 
This letter aroused the question as to whether it 
was right or wrong to have Church fairs, and the 
newspapers became very fretful about it. I 
defended the Church fairs, because I felt that if 
they were conducted on Christian principles they 
were the means of an universal sociality and 
spiritual strength. So far as I had been acquain- 
ted with them, they had made the Church purer, 
better. Some fairs may end in a fight; they are 



A CONTRAST IN WILLS 73 



badly managed, perhaps. A Church fair, officered 
by Christian women, held within Christian hours, 
conducted on Christian plans, I approved, the 
pastoral letter of the Episcopal Bishops not- 
withstanding. 

Just when we were in the midst of this religious 
tempest of small finances, the will of Commodore 
Cornelius Vanderbilt came up in the court for 
discussion. The whole world was anxious then 
to know if the Vanderbilt will could be broken. 
After battling half a century with diseases enough 
to kill ten men, Mr. Vanderbilt died, an octo- 
genarian, leaving over $100,000,000— $95,000,000 
to his eldest son — $5,000,000 to his wife, and the 
remainder to his other children and relations, 
with here and there a slight recognition of some 
humane or religious institution. I said then 
that the will could not be broken, because 
$95,000,000 in this country seemed too mighty 
for $5,000,000. It was a strange will, and if 
Mr. Vanderbilt had been his own executor of it, 
without lawyers' interference, I believe it would 
have been different. It suggests a comparison 
with George Peabody, who executed the distri- 
bution of his property without legal talent. 
Peabody gave $250,000 for a library in his own 
town in Massachusetts, and in his will left 
$10,000 to the Baltimore Institute, $20,000 
to the poor of London, $10,000 to Harvard, 
$150,000 to Yale, $50,000 to Salem, Mas- 
sachusetts, and $3,000,000 to the education of 
the people of the South in this country. No 
wonder he refused a baronetcy which the Queen 
of England offered him, he was a king — the king 
of human benefaction. That Vanderbilt will 
was the seven days wonder of its time. 

It made way only for the President's message 
issued the first week in December, 1877. It was, 



74 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



in fact, Mr. Hayes's repudiation of a dishonest 
measure prepared by members of Congress to 
pay off our national debt in silver instead of 
in gold as had been promised. 

The newspapers received the President's mes- 
sage with indifferent opinion. " It is disappoint- 
ing," said one. "As a piece of composition it is 
terse and well written," said another. " The 
President used a good many big words to say 
very little," said another. " President Hayes 
will secure a respectful hearing by the ability 
and character of this document," said another. 
" Leaving out his bragging over his policy of 
pacification and concerning things he claims to 
have done, the space remaining will be very small," 
said another. 

But all who read the message carefully 
realised that in it the President promised the 
people to put an end to the dishonour of thieving 
politics. There was something in the air in Wash- 
ington that seemed to afflict the men who went 
there with moral distemper. I was told that 
Coates Ames was almost a Christian in Massachu- 
setts, while in Washington, from his house, was 
born that monster — The Credit Mobilier. Con- 
gressmen who in their own homes would insist upon 
paying their private obligations, dollar for dollar, 
forgot this standard of business honour when they 
advocated a swindling policy for the Government 
of the United States. In its day of trouble the 
Government was glad to promise gold to the 
people who had confidence in them, and just as 
gladly the Government proposed to swindle them 
by a silver falsehood in 1877. But the Nation 
was just recovering from a four years' drunk ; Mr. 
Hayes undertook to steady us, during the after- 
effects of our war-spree. Why should we neglect 
to pay in full the price of our four years' unright- 



THE CREDIT MOBILIER 75 



eousness ? As a nation we had so often been re- 
lieved from financial depression up to that time, 
but, we were just entering a period of unlicensed 
ethics, not merely in public life, but in all our 
private standards of morality. 

It seems to me, as I recall the character of 
Brooklyn life at this time, there never was a 
period in its history when it was so intolerably 
wicked. And yet, we had 276 churches. One 
night about Christmas time, in 1877, Brooklyn 
Heights was startled by a pistol shot that set 
everyone in New York and Brooklyn to moralising. 
It was the Johnson tragedy. A young husband 
shot his young wife, with intent to kill. She was 
seriously wounded. He went to prison. There 
was a child, and for the sake of that child, who is 
now probably grown up, I will not relate the 
details. In all my experience of life I have 
heard many stories of domestic failure, but there 
are always two sides. Those who moralised 
about it said, " That's what comes of marrying 
too young ! " Others, moralising too, said, " That's 
what comes of not controlling one's temper." 
Who does control his temper, always ? 

To my mind the chief lesson was in the fact 
that the young men of Brooklyn had taken too 
much of a notion to carry firearms. There was 
a puppyism sprang up in Brooklyn that felt they 
couldn't live unless they were armed. Young 
boys went about their daily occupations armed 
to the teeth, as if Fulton Street were an ambush 
for Indians. I mention this, because it was a 
singular phase of the social restlessness and tremor 
of the times. 

In commercial evolution there was the same 
indistinctness of standards. The case of Dr. 
Lambert — the Life Insurance fraud — had no 
sooner been disposed of, and Lambert sent to 



76 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



Sing-Sing, than the sudden failure of Bonner 
& Co., brokers in Wall Street, presented us with 
the problem of business " rehypothecation." 

In my opinion a man has as much right to fail 
in business as he has to get sick and die. In 
most cases it is more honourable to fail than to go 
on. Every insolvent is not necessarily a scoun- 
drel. The greatest crime is to fail rich. John 
Bonner & Co., as brokers, had loaned money on 
deposited collaterals, and then borrowed still larger 
sums on the same collaterals. Their creditors were 
duped to the extent of from one to three millions 
of dollars. It was the first crime of "rehypothe- 
cation." It was not a Wall Street theft; it 
was a new use for an almost unknown word in 
Noah Webster's dictionary. It was a new word 
in the rogue's vocabulary. It was one of the first 
attempts made, in my knowledge, to soften the 
aspect of crime by baptising it in that way. 
Crime in this country will always be excused in 
proportion to how great it is. But even in the 
face of Wall Street tricksters there were signs 
that the days were gone when the Jay Goulds 
and the Jim Fisks could hold the nation at their 
mercy. 

The comedy of life is sometimes quite as in- 
structive as a tragedy. There was a flagrant 
disposition in America, in the late 'seventies, to 
display family affairs in the newspapers. It 
became an epidemic of notoriety. What a deli- 
cious literature it was ! The private affairs of the 
household printed by the million copies. Chief 
among these novelettes of family life was the 
Hicks-Lord case. The world was informed one 
morning in February, 1878, that a Mr. Lord, a 
millionaire, had united his fortune with a Mrs. 
Hicks. The children of the former were offended 
at the second marriage of the latter, more 



THE HICKS-LORD CASE 77 



especially so as the new reunion might change 
the direction of the property. The father was 
accused of being insane by his children, and in- 
capable of managing his own affairs. The Courts 
were invoked. One thing was made plain to all 
the world, though, that Mr. Lord at eighty knew 
more than his children did at thirty or forty. 
The happy pair were compelled to remain in long 
seclusion because of murderous threats against 
them, the children having proposed a corpse 
instead of a bride. The absorbing question of 
weeks, " Where is Mr. Lord ? " was answered. 
He was in the newspapers — and the children ? 
they were across the old man's knee, where they 
belonged. Mr. Lord was right. Mrs. Hicks was 
right. It was nobody's business but their own. 
Brooklyn and New York were exceeding busy- 
bodies in the late 'seventies. It was a relief to 
turn one's back upon them occasionally, in the 
pulpit, and search the furthest horizon of Europe. 

Scarcely had Victor Emmanuel been entombed 
when on Feb. 7th a tired old man, eighty -four years 
of age, died in the Vatican, Pius IX., a kind and 
forgiving man. His trust was not wholly in the 
crucifix, but something beyond the crucifix; and 
yet, how small a man is when measured by the 
length of his coffin ! Events in Europe marshalled 
themselves into a formula of new problems at 
the beginning of 1878. The complete defeat of 
Turkey by the Russians left England and the 
United States — allies in the great causes of civili- 
sation and Christianity — aghast. It was the most 
intense political movement in Europe of my life- 
time. I was glad the Turkish Empire had perished, 
but I had no admiration then for Russia, once 
one of the world's greatest oppressors. 

My deepest sympathies at that time were with 
England. When England is humiliated the 



78 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



Christian standards of the world are humiliated. 
Her throne during Queen Victoria's reign was 
the purest throne in all the world. Remember the 
girl Victoria, kneeling with her ecclesiastical 
adviser in prayer the night before her coronation, 
making religious vows, not one of which were 
broken. I urged then that all our American 
churches throughout the land unite with the 
cathedrals and churches in England in shouting 
" God Save the Queen." England held the 
balance of the world's power for Christianity in 
this crisis abroad. 

About this time, in February, 1878, Senator 
Pierce presented a Bill before the Legislature in 
Albany for a new city charter for Brooklyn. 
In its reform movement it meant that in three 
years at the most Brooklyn and New York 
would be legally married. Instead of Brooklyn 
being depressed by New York, New York was to 
be elevated by Brooklyn. Already we felt at 
that time, in the light of Senator Pierce's efforts, 
that Brooklyn would become a reformed New 
York; it would be — New York with its cares set 
aside, New York with its arms folded at rest, 
New York playing with the children, New York 
at the tea table, New York gone to prayer-meet- 
mg. Nine-tenths of the Brooklynites then were 
spending their days in New York, and their nights 
in Brooklyn. In the year 1877, 80,000,000 of 
people crossed the Brooklyn ferries. Paris is 
France, London is England, why not New York 
the United States ? 

The new charter recommended by Senator 
Pierce urged other reforms in a local government 
that was too costly by far. Under right adminis- 
tration who could tell what our beloved city is 
to be ? Prospect Park, the geographical centre, 
a beautiful picture set in a great frame of 



A PROPHECY 



79 



architectural affluence. The boulevards reaching to 
the sea, their sides lined the whole distance with 
luxurious homes and academies of art. Our 
united city a hundred Brightons in one, and the 
inland populations coming down here to summer 
and battle in the surf. The great American 
London built by a continent on which all the 
people are free ; her vast populations redeemed ; 
her churches thronged with worshipful auditories ! 
Before that time we may have fallen asleep amid 
the long grass of the valleys, but our children will 
enjoy the brightness and the honour of residence 
in the great Christian city of the continent and 
of the world. 

It was this era of optimism in the civic life of 
Brooklyn that helped to defeat the Lafayette 
Avenue railroad. 

It was a scheme of New York speculators to 
deface one of the finest avenues in Brooklyn. The 
most profitable business activity in this country 
is to invest other people's money. It seemed to 
me that the Lafayette railroad deal was only a 
sort of blackmailing institution to compel the 
property holders to pay for the discontinuance of 
the enterprise, or the company would sell out to 
some other company ; and as the original company 
paid nothing all they get is clear gain ; and whether 
the railroad is built or not, the people for years, 
all along the beautiful route, would be kept in 
suspense. There was no more need of a car track 
along Lafayette avenue than there was need of 
one from the top of Trinity Church steeple to the 
moon ! The greater facility of travel, the greater 
prosperity! But I am opposed to all railroads, 
the depot for which is an unprincipled speculator's 
pocket. 

It was only a few weeks later that I had to 
condemn a much greater matter, a national event. 



80 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



On March 1, 1878, the Silver Bill was passed 
in Washington, notwithstanding the President's 
veto. The House passed it by a vote of 196 
against 73, and the Senate agreed with a vote of 
46 against 10. It would be asking too much to 
expect anyone to believe that the 196 men in 
Congress were bought up. So far as I knew the 
men, they were as honest on one side of the vote 
as on the other. Senator Conkling, that giant of 
integrity, opposed it. Alexander H. Stephens 
voted for it. I talked with Mr. Stephens about 
it, and he said to me at the time, 44 Unless the 
Silver Bill pass, in the next six months there will 
not be two hundred business houses in New York 
able to stand." Still, the Silver Bill seemed like 
the first step towards repudiation of our national 
obligation, but I believe that at least 190 out of 
those 196 men who voted for it would have sacrificed 
their lives rather than repudiate our national debt. 

I had an opportunity to comprehend the politi- 
cal explosion of the passage of this Bill all over 
the country, for it so happened I made a lecturing 
trip through the South and South-west during 
the month of March, 1878. 

There is one word that described the whole 
feeling in the South at this time, and that was 
" hope." The most cheerful city, I found, was 
New Orleans. She was rejoicing in the release 
from years of unrighteous government. Just 
how the State of Louisiana had been badgered, 
and her every idea of self-government insulted, 
can be appreciated only by those who come face to 
face with the facts. While some of the best 
patriots of the North went down with the right 
motives to mingle in the reconstruction of the 
State governments of the South, many of these 
pilgrimists were the cast-off and thieving politi- 
cians of the North, who, after being stoned out 



THE HOPEFUL SOUTH 81 



of Northern waters, crawled up on the beach at 
the South to sun themselves. The Southern 
States had enough dishonest men of their own 
without any importation. The day of trouble 
passed. Louisiana and South Carolina for the 
most part are free. Governor Nichols of the 
one, and Governor Wade Hampton of the other, 
had the confidence of the great masses of the 
people. 

* It was my opinion then that the largest 
fortunes were yet to be made in the South, 
because there was more room to make them there. 
During my two weeks in the South, at that time, 
mingling with all classes of people, I never heard 
an unkind word against the North, and that only 
a little over ten years since the close of the war. 
Congressional politicians were still enlarging upon 
the belligerency of the South, but they had 
personal designs at President making. There 
was no more use for Federal military in New 
Orleans than there was need of them in Brooklyn. 
I was the guest in New Orleans of the Hon. E. J. 
Ellis, many years in Congress, and I had a taste 
of real Southern hospitality. It was everywhere. 
The spirit of fraternity was in the South long 
before it reached the North. Up to this time I 
had echoed Horace Greeley's advice, " Go West." 
For years afterwards I changed it. In my ad-/ 
vice to young men I said to all, " Go South." / 
In the spring of 1878, however, things in 
Brooklyn began to look more promising for young 
men and young women. I remember after 
closely examining Mayor Howell's report and the 
Police Commissioner's report I was much pleased. 
Mayor Howell was one of the most courteous and 
genial men I ever knew, and Superintendent 
Campbell was a good police officer. These two 
men, by their individual interest in Brooklyn 

G 



82 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



reforms, had gained the confidence of our tax- 
payers and our philanthropists. The police force 
was too small for a city of 5,000,000 people. The 
taxes were not big enough to afford an adequate 
equipment. There was a constant depreciation of 
our police and excise officials in the churches. City 
officials should not be caricatured — they should be 
respected, or dismissed. It was about this time a 
mounted police department was started in Brook- 
lyn, and though small it was needed. What the 
miscreant community of Brooklyn most needed at 
this time was not sermons or lessons in the 
common schools, but a police club — and they 
got it- 
There was a political avarice in Brooklyn in the 
management of our public taxes which handi- 
capped the local government. For a long while 
I had been thinking about some way of presenting 
this sin to my people, when one day a woman, 
Barbara Allen by name, dropping in fatal illness, 
was picked up at the Fulton Ferry House, and 
died in the ambulance. On her arm was a basket 
of cold victuals she had lugged from house to 
house. In the rags of her clothing were found 
deposit slips in the savings banks of Brooklyn — 
for $20,000. The case was unique at that time, 
because in those days great wealth was unknown, 
even in New York, and the houses in Brooklyn 
were homes — not museums. Twenty thousand 
dollars was a fortune. It was a precedent that 
established miserliness as an actual sin, a dis- 
sipation just as deadly as that of the spendthrift. 
It was a tragic scene from the drama of life, and 
its surprise was avarice. The whole country 
read about Barbara Allen, and wondered what 
new strange disease this was that could scourge a 
human soul with a madness for accumulating 
money without spending it. The people of the 



THE TIGER IN THE JUNGLE 83 



United States suffered from quite a different idea 
of money. They were just beginning to feel the 
great American fever for spending more of it than 
they could get. This was a serious phase of 
social conditions then, and I remember how 
keenly I felt the menace of it at the time. Those 
who couldn't get enough to spend became envious, 
jealous, hateful of those who could and these 
envious ones were the American masses. 

In the spring of 1878, in May, there was a tiger 
sprang out of this jungle of discontent, and, 
crouching, threatened to spring upon American 
Society. 

It was — Communism. Its theory was that 
what could not be obtained lawfully, under the 
pressure of circumstances, you could take anyhow. 
Communism meant no individual rights in 
property. If wages were not adequate to the 
luxurious appetite, then the wage-earner claimed 
the right to knock his employer down and take 
what he wanted. "Bread or blood" was the 
motto. It all came from across the Atlantic, and 
it spread rapidly. In Brooklyn, New York, 
Chicago, St. Louis, it was evident that Communism 
was organising, that its executive desperadoes 
met in rooms, formed lodges, invented grips and 
pass-words. 

In the eighth ward of New York an organ- 
isation was unearthed at this time, consisting of 
800 men, all armed with muskets and revolvers. 
These organisations described themselves as 
working-men's parties, and so tried to ally them- 
selves with the interests of trade unions. 

Twenty American newspapers advocated this 
shocking creed. Tens of thousands adopted this 
theory. I said then, in response to the opinion 
that Communism was impossible in this country, 
that there were just as many cut-throats along the 



84 



THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



East River and the Hudson as there were along 
the Seine or the Thames. There was only one 
thing that prevented revolution in our cities in 
this memorable spring of 1878, and that was the 
police and the military guard. 

Through dissatisfaction about wages, or from 
any cause, men have a right to stop work, and to 
stop in bands and bodies until their labour shall 
be appreciated ; but when by violence, as in the 
summer of 1877, they compel others to stop, or 
hinder substitutes from taking the places, then 
the act is Communistic, and ought to be riven of 
the lightnings of public condemnation. What 
was the matter in Pittsburg that summer ? What 
fired the long line of cars that made night 
hideous ? What lifted the wild howl in Chicago ? 
Why, coming toward that city, were we obliged to 
dismount from the cars and take carriages 
through the back streets ? Why, when one night 
the Michigan Central train left Chicago, were 
there but three passengers on board a train of 
eight cars ? What forced three rail trains from 
the tracks and shot down engineers with their 
hands on the valves ? Communism. For hun- 
dreds of miles along the track leading from the 
great West I saw stretched out and coiled up the 
great reptile which, after crushing the free loco- 
motive of passengers and trade, would have 
twisted itself around our republican institutions, 
and left them in strangulation and blood along 
the pathway of nations. The governors of States 
and the President of the United States did well 
in planting the loaded cannon at the head of 
streets blocked up by desperadoes. I felt the 
inspiration of giving warning, and I did. 

But the summer came, August came, and after 
a lecture tour through the far West I was amazed 
and delighted to find there a tremendous harvest 



COMMUNISM 



85 



in the grain fields. I had seen immense crops 
there about to start on their way to the Eastern 
sea-boundary of our continent. I saw then that 
our prosperity as a nation would depend upon 
our agriculture. It didn't make any difference 
what the Greenback party, or the Republican and 
Democratic parties, or the Communists were 
croaking about; the immense harvests of the 
West indicated that nothing was the matter. 
What we needed in the fall of 1878 was some 
cheerful talk. 

During this summer two of the world's cele- 
brities died : Charles i Mathews, the famous 
comedian, and the great American poet, William 
Cullen Bryant. Charles Mathews was an illus- 
trious actor. He was born to make the world 
laugh, but he had a sad life of struggle. 

While Charles Mathews was performing in 
London before immense audiences, one day a 
worn-out and gloomy man came into a doctor's 
shop, saying, " Doctor, what can you do for me ? " 
The doctor examined his case and said, " My 
advice is that you go and see Charles Mathews." 
" Alas ! Alas ! " said the man, " I myself am 
Charles Mathews." 

In the loss of William Cullen Bryant I felt it 
as a personal bereavement of a close friend. 
Nowhere have I seen the following incident of his 
life recorded, an incident which I still remember 
as one of the great events in my life. 

In the days of my boyhood I attended a 
meeting at Tripler Hall, held as a memorial of 
Fenimore Cooper, who at that time had just 
died. Washington Irving stepped out on the 
speaker's platform first, trembling, and in evident 
misery. After stammering and blushing and 
bowing, he completely broke down in his effort 
to make a speech, and briefly introduced the 



86 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



presiding officer of the meeting, Daniel Webster. 
Rising like a huge mountain from a plain this 
great orator introduced another orator — the 
orator of the day — William Cullen Bryant. In 
that memorable oration, lasting an hour and a 
half, the speaker told lovingly the story of the 
life and death of the author of " Leather Stock- 
ing " and " The Last of the Mohicans." 

George W. Bethune followed him, thundering 
out in that marvellous flow of ideas, with an 
eloquence that made him the pulpit orator of 
his generation in the South. Bryant's hair was 
then just touched with grey. The last time I saw 
him was in my house on Oxford Street, two years 
ago, in a company of literary people. I said : 
" Mr. Bryant, will you read for us 6 Thanatopsis ' ? " 
He blushed like a girl, and put his hands over his 
face and said : "I would rather read anything 
than my own production ; but if it will give you 
pleasure I will do anything you say." Then at 
82 years of age, and without spectacles, he stood 
up and with most pathetic tenderness read the 
famous poem of his boyhood days, and from a score 
of lips burst forth the exclamation, " What a 
wonderful old man ! " What made all the land 
and all the world feel so badly when William 
Cullen Bryant was laid down at Roslyn ? Because 
he was a great poet who had died ? No ; there 
have been greater poets. Because he was so able 
an editor ? No ; there have been abler editors. 
Because he was so very old ? No ; some have 
attained more years. It was because a spotless 
and noble character irradiated all he wrote and 
said and did. 

These great men of America, how much they 
were to me, in their example of doing and living ! 

Probably there are many still living who remem- 
ber what a disorderly place Brooklyn once was. 



REIGN OF TERROR 87 



Gangs of loafers hung around our street corners, 
insulting and threatening men and women. 
Carriages were held up in the streets, the occupants 
robbed, and the vehicles stolen. Kidnapping 
was known. Behind all this outrage of civil 
rights was political outrage. The politicians 
were afraid to offend the criminals, because they 
might need their votes in future elections. They 
were immune, because they were useful material 
in case of a new governor or President. It was 
a reign of terror that spread also in other large 
cities. The farmers of Ohio and Pennsylvania 
were threatened if they did not stop buying 
labour-saving machinery. They were not the 
threats of the working-man, but of the lazy, 
criminal loafers of the country. It is worth 
mentioning, because it was a convulsion of an 
American period, a national growing pain, which 
I then saw and talked about. The nation was 
under the cloud of political ambition and office- 
seeking that unsettled business conditions. Every 
one was occupied in President-making, although 
we were two years from the Presidential election. 
There was plenty of money, but people held on 
to it. 

The yellow fever scourge came down upon the 
South during the late summer of 1878, and softened 
the hearts of some. There was some money con- 
tributed from the North, but not as much as 
there ought to have been. In the Brooklyn 
Tabernacle we did the best we could; New York 
city had been ravaged by yellow fever in 1832, the 
year I was born, but the memory of that horror 
was not keen enough to influence the collection 
plate. What with this suffering of our neigh- 
bours in the South, and the troubles of political 
jealousies local and national, there were cares 
enough for our church to consider. Still, the 



88 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



summer of 1878 was almost through, and many 
predictions of disaster had failed. We had been 
threatened with general riots. It was predicted 
that on June 27 all the cars and railroad stations 
would be burned, because of a general strike 
order. We were threatened with a fruit famine. 
It was said that the Maryland and New Jersey 
peach crop was a failure. I never saw or ate 
so many peaches any summer before. 

Then there was the Patten investigation com- 
mittee, determined to send Mr. Tilden down to 
Washington to drive the President out of the 
White House. None of these things happened, 
yet it is interesting to recall this phase of American 
nerves in 1878. 

There was one event that aroused my disgust, 
however, much more than the croakers had done 
— Ben Butler was nominated for Governor of 
Massachusetts. That was when politics touched 
bottom. There was no lower depths of infamy for 
them to reach. Ben Butler was the chief dema- 
gogue of the land. The Republican party was 
to be congratulated that it got rid of him. His 
election was a cross put upon the State of 
Massachusetts for something it had done we knew 
not of. Fortunately there were men like Roscoe 
Conkling in politics to counterbalance other 
kinds. 

Backed up by unscrupulous politicians, the 
equally irresponsible railroad promoter began 
his invasion of city streets with his noisy scheme. 
I opposed him, but the problem of transportation 
then was not as it is now. Just as the year 1879 
had begun, a gigantic political promoting scheme 
for an elevated railroad in Brooklyn was 
attempted. From Boston came the promoters 
with a proposition to build the road, without 
paying a cent of indemnity to property holders. 



PROFESSOR THOMAS EDISON 89 



I suggested that an appeal be made to Brooklyn- 
ites to subscribe to a company for the agricultural 
improvements of Boston Common. It was a 
parallel absurdity. Mayor Howell, of Brooklyn, 
courageously opposed an elevated road franchise, 
unless property holders were paid according to 
the damage to the property. This was one 
of many inspired grafts of political Brooklyn, 
years ago. 

A great event in the world was the announce- 
ment in November, 1878, that Professor Thomas 
Edison had applied for a patent for the discovery 
of the incandescent electric light. He harnessed 
the flame of a thunderbolt to fit in a candlestick. 
I hope he made millions of dollars out of it. In 
direct contradiction to this progress in daily life 
there came, at the same time, from the Phila- 
delphia clergy a protest against printing their 
sermons in the secular press. It was an injustice 
to them, they declared, because the sermons were 
not always fully reported. I did not share these 
opinions. If a minister's gospel is not fit for 
fifty thousand people, then it is not fit for the 
few hundred members of his congregation. My 
own sermons were being published in the secular 
press then, as they had been when I was in 
Philadelphia. 

Almost at the close of the year 1878 the loss of 
the S.S. "Pomerania," in collision in the English 
Channel, was a disaster of the sea that I denounced 
as nothing short of murder. It was shown at the 
trial that there was no fog at the time, that the 
two vessels saw each other for ten minutes before 
the collision. If such gross negligence as this 
was possible, I advised those people who bought 
a ticket for Europe on the White Star, the 
Cunard, the Hamburg, or other steamship lines, 
to secure at the same time a ticket for Heaven. 



90 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



What a difference in the ocean ferry-boat of 
to-day ! 

Scarcely had the submarine telegraph closed 
this chapter of sea horror than it clicked the 
information that the beautiful Princess Alice had 
died in Germany. Only a few days later, in 
America, we were in mood of mourning for 
Bayard Taylor, our Minister Plenipotentiary to 
Germany. In the death of Princess Alice we felt 
chiefly a sympathy for Queen Victoria, who had 
not then, and never did, overcome her grief at 
the loss of Prince Albert. In the decease of 
Bayard Taylor we remembered with pride that 
he was a self-made gentleman of a school for 
which there is no known system of education. 
Regarded as a dreamy, unpractical boy, nothing 
much was ever expected of him. When he was 
seventeen he set type in a printing office in 
Westchester. It was Bayard Taylor who ex- 
ploded the idea that only the rich could afford 
to go to Europe, when on less than a thousand 
dollars he spent two years amid the palaces and 
temples, telling of his adventures in a way that 
contributed classic literature to our book- shelves. 
He worked hard — wrote thirty-five books. There 
is genius in hard work alone. I have often 
thought that women pursue more of it than men. 
They work night and day, year in and year out, 
from kitchen to parlour, from parlour to kitchen. 

There was some strong legislative effort made 
in our country about this time to exclude the 
Chinese. I opposed this legislation with all the 
voice and ability I had, because I felt not merely 
the injustice of such contradiction of all our 
national institutions, but I saw its political folly. 
I saw that the nation that would be the most 
friendly to China, and could get on the inside 
track of her commerce, would be the first nation 



CHINESE EXCLUSION 91 



of the world. The legislature seemed particu- 
larly angry with the Chinese immigrants in this 
country because they would not allow themselves 
to be buried here. They were angry with the 
Chinese then because they would not inter- 
marry. They were angry with the Chinese 
because they invested their money in China. 
They did not think they were handsome enough 
for this country. We even wanted a monopoly of 
good looks in those days. 

I was particularly friendly to the Chinese. My 
brother, John Van Nest Talmage, devoted his life 
to them. I believed, as my brother did, that they 
were a great nation. 

When he went, my last brother went. Stunned 
was I until I staggered through the corridors of 
the hotel in London, England, when the news 
came that John was dead. If I should say all that 
I felt I would declare that since Paul the Apostle 
to the Gentiles a more faithful or consecrated 
man has not lifted his voice in the dark places of 
heathenism. I said it while he was alive, and 
might as well say it now that he is dead. He was 
the hero of our family. He did not go to China 
to spend his days because no one in America 
wanted to hear him preach. At the time of his 
first going to China he had a call to succeed in 
Brooklyn, N.Y., the Rev. Dr. Broadhead, the 
Chrysostom of the American pulpit, a call at a 
large salary ; and there would have been nothing 
impossible to my brother in the way of religious 
work or Christian achievement had he tarried in 
his native land. But nothing could detain him 
from the work to which God called him long 
before he became a Christian. 

My reason for writing that anomalous state- 
ment is that, when a small boy in Sabbath-school, 
he read a library book, "The Life of Henry 



92 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



Martin." He said to my mother, " I am going to 
be a missionary." The remark at the time made 
no special impression. Years after that passed 
on before his conversion ; but when the grace of 
God appeared to him, and he had entered his 
studies for the Gospel ministry, he said one day, 
" Mother, do you remember that years ago I 
said, c I am going to be a missionary ' ? " She 
replied, " Yes, I remember it." " Well," said he, 
44 1 am going to keep my promise." How well he 
kept it millions of souls on earth and in Heaven 
have long since heard. When the roll of martyrs 
is called before the throne, the name of John Van 
Nest Talmage will be called. He worked himself 
to death in the cause of the world's evangeli- 
sation. His heart, his brain, his hand, his voice, 
his muscles, his nerves could do no more. He 
sleeps in the cemetery of Somerville, N. J., so near 
his father and mother that he will face them 
when he arises in the resurrection of the just, 
and, amid a crowd of his kindred now sleeping 
on the right of them and on the left of them, 
will feel the thrill of the trumpet that wakes 
the dead. 

You could get nothing from my brother at all. 
Ask him a question to evoke what he had done 
for God and the Church, and his lips were as 
tightly shut as though they had never been 
opened. Indeed, his reticence was at times 
something remarkable. I took him to see Presi- 
dent Grant at Long Branch, and though they 
had both been great warriors, the one fighting the 
battles of the Lord and the other the battles of 
his country, they had little to say, and there was, 
I thought at the time, more silence crowded 
together than I ever noticed in the same amount 
of space before. 

But the story of my brother's work has already 



MY BROTHER'S WORK 93 



been told in the Heavens by those who, through 
his instrumentality, have already reached the City 
of Raptures. However, his chief work is yet to 
come. We get our chronology so twisted that 
we come to believe that the white marble of the 
tomb is the milestone at which the good man stops, 
when it is only a milestone on a journey, the most 
of the miles of which are yet to be travelled. 
The Chinese Dictionary which my brother pre- 
pared during more than two decades of study; the 
religious literature he transferred from English 
into Chinese ; the hymns he wrote for others to 
sing, although he himself could not sing at all (he 
and I monopolising the musical incapacity of a 
family in which all the rest could sing well) ; the 
missionary stations he planted ; the life he lived, 
will widen out and deepen and intensify through 
all time and all eternity. 

Never in the character of a Chinaman was there 
the trait of commercial fraud that assailed our 
American cities in 1879. It got into our food 
finally — the very bread we ate was proven to be 
an adulteration of impure stuff. What an ex- 
travagance of imagination had crept into our 
daily life ! We pretended even to eat what we 
knew we were not eating. Except for the 
reminder which old books written in byegone 
simpler days gave us, we should have insisted 
that the world should believe us if we said black 
was white. Still, among us there were some who 
were genuine, but they seemed to be passing 
away. It was in this year that the oldest author 
in America died, Richard Henry Dana. He was 
born in 1788, when literature in this country was 
just beginning. His death stirred the tenderest 
emotions. Authorship was a new thing in 
America when Mr. Dana began to write, and 
it required endurance and persistence. The 



94 THE FIFTH MILESTONE 



atmosphere was chilling to literature then, there 
was little applause for poetic or literary skill. 
There were no encouragements when Washington 
Irving wrote as "Knickerbocker," when Richard 
Henry Dana wrote " The Buccaneer," " The 
Idle Man," and " The Dying Raven." There was 
something cracking in his wit, exalted in his 
culture. He was so gentle in his conversation, 
so pure in his life, it was hard to spare him. He 
seemed like a man who had never been forced 
into the battle of the world, he was so unscarred 
and hallowed. 

It was just about this time that our Tabernacle 
in Brooklyn became the storm centre of a law- 
suit which threatened to undermine us. It was 
based upon a theory, a technicality of law, which 
declared that the subscriptions of married women 
were not legal subscriptions. Our attorneys were 
Mr. Freeman and Judge Tenney. Theirs was a 
battle for God and the Church. There were only 
two sides to the case. Those against the Church 
and those with the Church. In the preceding 
eight years, whether against fire or against foe, 
the Tabernacle had risen to a higher plane of useful 
Christian work. I was not alarmed. During the 
two weeks of persecution, the days were to me 
days of the most complete peace I had felt since I 
entered the Christian life. Again and again I 
remember remarking in my home, to my family, 
what a supernatural peace was upon me. My 
faith was in God, who managed my life and the 
affairs of the Church. My work was still before me, 
there was too much to be done in the Tabernacle 
yet. The disapproval of our methods before the 
Brooklyn Presbytery was formulated in a series 
of charges against the pastor. I was told my 
enthusiasm was sinful, that it was unorthodox 
for me to be so. My utterances were described 



PEOPLE OF BROOKLYN TABERNACLE 95 



as inaccurate. My editorial work was offensively 
criticised. The Presbytery listened patiently, 
and after a careful consideration dismissed the 
charges. Once more the unjust oppression of 
enemies had seemed to extend the strength and 
scope of the Gospel. A few days later my con- 
gregation presented me with a token of confidence 
in their pastor. I was so happy at the time that 
I was ready to shake hands even with the reporters 
who had abused me. How kind they were, how 
well they understood me, how magnificently they 
took care of me, my people of the Brooklyn 
Tabernacle ! 



THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



1879—1881 

In the spring of 1879 I made a Gospel tour of 
England, Ireland, and Scotland. On a previous 
visit I had given a series of private lectures, under 
the management of Major Pond, and I had been 
more or less criticised for the amount of money 
charged the people to hear me. As I had nothing 
whatever to do with the prices of tickets to my 
lectures, which went to the managers who 
arranged the tour, this was something beyond 
my control. My personal arrangement with 
Major Pond was for a certain fixed sum. They 
said in Europe that I charged too much to be 
heard, that as a preacher of the Gospel I should 
have been more moderate. If the management 
had been my own I should not have been so 
greedy. 

Because of this recollection and the regret it 
gave me, I decided to make another tour at my 
own expense, and preach without price in all 
the places I had previously visited as a lecturer. 
It was the most exhausting, exciting, remarkable 
demonstration of religious enthusiasm I have 
ever witnessed. It was an evangelistic yearning 
that could not be repeated in another life-time. 

The entire summer was a round of Gospel 
meetings, overflow meetings, open-air meetings, 

9 6 



PREACHING IN BRITAIN 97 



a succession of scenes of blessing. From the 
time I arrived in Liverpool, where that same 
night I addressed two large assemblages, till I 
got through after a monster gathering at Edin- 
burgh, I missed but three Gospel appointments, 
and those because I was too tired to stand up. 
I preached ninety-eight times in ninety-three 
days. 

With nothing but Gospel themes I confronted 
multitudes. A collection was always taken up 
at these gatherings for the benefit of local charities, 
feeble churches, orphan asylums and other institu- 
tions. My services were gratuitous. 

It was the most wonderful summer of evan- 
gelical work I was ever privileged to enjoy. There 
must have been much praying for me and my 
welfare, or no mortal could have got through 
with the work. In every city I went to, messages 
were passed into my ears for families in 
America. The collection taken for the benefit 
of the Y.M.C.A. at Leeds was about $6,000. 
During this visit I preached in Scenery Chapel, 
London, in the pulpit where such consecrated 
souls as Rowland Hill and Newman Hall and 
James Sherman had preached. I visited the 
" Red Horse Hotel," of Stratford-on-Avon, where 
the chair and table used by Washington Irving 
were as interesting to me as anything in Shake- 
speare's cottage. The church where the poet is 
buried is over seven hundred years old. 

The most interesting place around London to 
me is in Chelsea, where, on a narrow street, I 
entered the house of Thomas Carlyle. This great 
author was away from London at the time. 
Entering a narrow hall, on the left is the literary 
workshop, where some of the strongest thunder- 
bolts of the world's literature have been forged. 
In the room, which has two front windows 

H 



98 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



shaded from the prying street by two little red 
calico curtains, is a lounge that looks as though 
it had been made by an author unaccustomed to 
saw or hammer. On the wall were a few woodcuts 
in plain frames or pinned on the w T all. Here was a 
photograph of Carlyle, taken one day, as a 
member of his family told me, when he had a 
violent toothache and could attend to nothing 
else, and yet posterity regards it as a favourite 
picture. There are only three copies of this 
photograph in existence. One was given to 
Carlyle, the other was kept by the photographer, 
and the third belongs to me. In long rough 
shelves was the library of the renowned thinker. 
The books were well worn with reading. Many 
of them were books I never heard of. American 
literature was almost ignored; they were chiefly 
books written by Germans. There was an absence 
of theological books, excepting those of Thomas 
Chalmers, whose genius he worshipped. The 
carpets were old and worn and faded. He wished 
them to be so, as a perpetual protest against the 
world's sham. It did not appeal to me as a place 
of inspiration for a writer. 

I returned to America impressed with the 
over-crowding of the British Isles, and the un- 
settled regions of our own country. 

" Tell the United States we want to send her 
five million population this year, and five million 
population next year," said a prominent English- 
man to me. I urged a mutual arrangement be- 
tween the two governments, to people the West 
with these populations. Great Britain was the 
workshop of the world ; we needed workers. The 
trouble in the United States at this time was 
that when there was one garment needed there 
were three people anxious to manufacture it, and 
five people anxious to sell it. We needed to 



FREE TRADE 



99 



evoke more harvests and fruits to feed the popu- 
lations of the world, and more flax and wool for 
the clothing. The cities in England are so close 
together that there is a cloud from smokestacks 
the length and width of the island. The Canon 
of York Minster showed me how the stone of that 
great cathedral was crumbling under the chemical 
corrosion of the atmosphere, wafted from neigh- 
bouring factories. 

America was not yet discovered then. Those 
who had gone West twenty years back, in 1859, 
were, in 1879, the leading men of Chicago, and 
Omaha, and Denver, and Minneapolis, and Du- 
buque. When I left, England was still suffering 
from the effects of the long-continued panic in 
America. 

Brooklyn had improved ; still, we were threatened 
with a tremendous influx of people. The new 
bridge at Fulton Ferry across the East River 
would soon be opened. It looked as though 
there was to be another bridge at South Ferry, 
and another at Peck Slip Ferry. Montauk 
Point was to be purchased by some enterprising 
Americans, and a railroad was to connect it with 
Brooklyn. Steamers from Europe were to find 
wharfage in some of the bays of Long Island, 
and the passage across the Atlantic reduced to 
six days ! Passengers six days out of Queenstown 
would pass into Brooklyn. This was the Brooklyn 
to be, as was seen in its prospectus, its evolution in 
1879-80. 

Our local elections had resulted in a better 
local government. With the exception of an 
unsuccessful attempt by the Board of Canvassers 
to deprive Frederick A. Schroeder of his seat in 
the Senate, because some of the voters had left out 
the middle initial in his name in their ballots, all 
was better with us politically than it had been. 



100 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



To the credit of our local press, the two political 
rivals, the Brooklyn Eagle and the Times, united 
in their efforts to support Senator Schroeder's claim. 

There was one man in Brooklyn at this time 
who was much abused and caricatured for doing 
a great work — Professor Bergh, the deliverer of 
dumb animals. He was constantly in the courts 
in defence of a lame horse or a stray cat. I 
supported and encouraged him. I always hoped 
that he would induce legislation that would give 
the poor car-horses of Brooklyn more oats, and 
fewer passengers to haul in one car. He was 
one of the first men to fight earnestly against 
vivisection — which was a great work. 

Just after we had settled down to a more com- 
fortable and hopeful state of mind Mr. Thomas 
Kinsella, one of our prominent citizens, startled 
us by showing us, in a published interview, how 
little we had any right to feel that way. He told 
us that our Brooklyn debt was $17,000,000, with 
a tax area of only three million and a half acres. 
It was disturbing. But we had prospects, 
energies. We had to depend in this predicament 
upon the quickened prosperity of our property 
holders, upon future examiners to be scrupulous 
at the ballot box, on the increase of our popula- 
tion, which would help to carry our burdens, and 
on the revenue from our great bridge. These were 
local affairs of interest to us all, but in December, 
1879, we had a more serious problem of our own 
to consider. This concerned the future of the 
new Tabernacle. 

In consequence of perpetual and long-continued 
outrages committed by neighbouring clergymen 
against the peace of our church, the Board of 
Trustees of the Tabernacle addressed a letter to 
the congregation suggesting our withdrawal from 
the denomination. I regretted this, because I felt 



DR. CROSBY 



101 



that the time would soon come when all denomin- 
ations should be helpful to each other. There 
would be enough people in Brooklyn, I was sure, 
when all the churches could be crowded. I 
positively refused to believe the things that my 
fellow ministers said about me, or to notice them. 
I was perfectly satisfied with the Christian outlook 
of our church. I urged the same spirit of calm 
upon my church neighbours, by example and 
precept. It was a long while before they realised 
the value of this advice. In the spring of 1879 
my friend Dr. Crosby, pastor of the Second 
Presbyterian Church at the corner of Clinton 
and Fulton Streets, was undergoing an ecclesi- 
astical trial, and an enterprising newsboy invaded 
the steps of the church, as the most interested 
market for the sale of the last news about the trial. 
He was ignominiously pushed off the church steps 
by the church officers. I was indignant about it. 
(I saw it from a distance, as I was coming down the 
street.) I thought it was a row between Brooklyn 
ministers, however, and turned the corner to 
avoid such a shocking sight. My suspicions were 
not groundless, because there was even then 
anything but brotherly love between some of the 
churches there. 

A synodical trial by the Synod of Long Island 
was finally held at Jamaica, L.I., to ascertain if 
there was not some way of inducing church har- 
mony in Brooklyn. After several days at Jamaica, 
in which the ministers of Long Island took us 
ministers of Brooklyn across their knees and 
applied the ecclesiastical slipper, we were sent 
home with a benediction. A lot of us went 
down there looking hungry, and they sent us 
back all fed up. Even some of the church 
elders were hungry and came back to Brooklyn 
strengthened. 



102 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



It looked for awhile after this as though all 
clerical antagonisms in Brooklyn would expire. 
I even foresaw a time coming when Brothers 
Speare, Van Dyke, Crosby and Talmage would 
sing Moody and Sankey hymns together out of 
the same hymn-book. 

The year 1880 began with an outbreak in 
Maine, a sort of miniature revolution, caused by 
a political appointment of my friend Governor 
Garcelon contrary to the opinions of the people 
of his State. Garcelon I knew personally, and 
regarded him as a man of honour and pure politi- 
cal motives, whether he did his duty or not; 
whatever he did he believed was the right and 
conscientious thing to do. The election had gone 
against the Democrats. In a neat address Mr. 
Lincoln Robinson, Democrat, handed over the 
keys of New York State to Mr. Carroll, the 
Republican Governor. Antagonists though they 
had been at the ballot-box, the surrender was 
conducted with a dignity that I trust will always 
surround the gubernatorial chair of the State of 
New York, once graced by such men as DeWitt 
Clinton, Silas Wright, William H. Seward, and 
John A. Dix. 

In January, 1880, Frank Leslie, the pioneer of 
pictorial journalism in America, died. I met him 
only once, when he took me through his immense 
establishment. I was impressed with him then, as 
a man of much elegance of manner and suavity 
of feeling. He was very much beloved by his 
employees, which, in those days of discord 
between capital and labour, was a distinction. 

The arrival of Mr. Parnell in New York was an 
event of the period. We knew he was an orator, 
and we were anxious to hear him. There was 
some uncertainty as to whether he came to 
America to obtain bayonets to stick the English 



CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 103 



with, or whether he came for bread for the 
starving in Ireland. We did not understand the 
political problem between England and Ireland 
so well — but we did understand the meaning of 
a loaf of bread. Mr. Parnell was welcome. 

The failure of the harvest crops in Europe 
made the question of the hour at the beginning 
of 1880 — bread. The grain speculator appeared, 
with his greedy web spun around the world. 
Europe was short 200,000,000 bushels of wheat. 
The American speculator cornered the market, 
stacked the warehouses, and demanded fifty cents 
a bushel. Europe was compelled to retaliate, by 
purchasing grain in Russia, British India, New 
Zealand, South America, and Australia. In one 
week the markets of the American North-west 
purchased over 15,000,000 bushels, of which 
only 4,000,000 bushels were exported. Mean- 
while the cry of the world's hunger grew louder, 
and the bolts on the grain cribs were locked 
tighter than ever. American finances could have 
been straightened out on this one product, except 
for the American speculator, who demanded more 
for it than it was worth. The United States had 
a surplus of 18,000,000 bushels of grain for export, 
in 1880. But the kings of the wheat market said 
to Europe, " Bow down before us, and starve." 

Suddenly we in America were surprised to 
learn that flour in London was two dollars 
cheaper a barrel than it was in New York. Our 
grain blockade of the world was reacting upon 
us. Lying idle at the wharves of New York and 
Brooklyn were 102 ships, 439 barques, 87 brigs, 
178 schooners, and 47 steamers. Six or seven 
hundred of these vessels were waiting for 
cargoes. The gates of our harbour were closed 
in the grip of the grain gambler. The thrift of 
the speculator was the menace of our national 



104 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



prosperity. The octopus of speculative ugliness 
was growing to its full size, and threatened to 
smother us utterly. There was a " corner " on 
everything. 

We were busy trying to pick out our next 
President. There was great agitation over the 
Republican candidates : Grant, Blaine, Cameron, 
Conkling, Sherman. Greatness in a man is 
sometimes a hindrance to the Presidency. Such 
was the case with Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, 
Thomas H. Benton, and William C. Preston. 
We were only on the edge of the whirlpool of a 
presidential election. In England the election 
storm was just beginning. The first thunderbolt 
was the sudden dissolution of Parliament by 
Lord Beaconsfield. The two mightiest men in 
England then were antagonists, Disraeli and 
Gladstone. 

What a magnificent body of men are those Mem- 
bers of Parliament. They meet and go about 
without the ostentation of some of our men in 
Congress. Men of great position in England are 
born to it ; they are not so afraid of losing it as 
our celebrated Republicans and Democrats. Even 
the man who comes up into political power from 
the masses in England is more likely to hold his 
position than if he had triumphed in American 
politics. 

In the spring and summer of 1880 I took a 
long and exhaustive trip across our continent, 
and completely lost the common dread of emi- 
gration that was then being talked about. There 
was room enough for fifty new nations between 
Omaha and Cheyenne, room for more still between 
Cheyenne and Ogden, from Salt Lake City to 
Sacramento. 

An unpretentious youth, Carey by name, whom 
I had known in Philadelphia, went West in '67. 



LEADVILLE 



105 



I found him in Cheyenne a leading citizen. He 
had been District Attorney, then judge of one of 
the courts, owned a city block, a cattle ranch, 
and was worth about $500,000. There wasn't 
room enough for him in Philadelphia. Senator 
Hill of Colorado told me, while in Denver, about a 
man who came out there from the East to be a 
miner. He began digging under a tree because it 
was shady. People passed by and laughed at 
him. He kept on digging. After a while he sent 
a waggon load of the dust to be assayed, and there 
was $9,000 worth of metal in it. He retired with a 
fortune. 

A man with $3,000 and good health could have 
gone West in 1880, invested it in cattle, and made 
a fortune. San Francisco was only forty-five 
years old then, Denver thirty-five, Leadville 
sixteen, Kansas City thirty-five. They looked 
a hundred at least. Leadville was then a place of 
palatial hotels, elegant churches, boulevards and 
streets. The West was just aching to show 
how fast it could build cities. Leadville was 
the most lied about. It was reported that I 
explored Leadville till long after midnight, look- 
ing at its wickedness. I didn't. All the ex- 
ploring I did in Leadville was in about six 
minutes, from the wide open doors of the gam- 
bling houses on two of the main streets; but the 
next day it was telegraphed all over the United 
States. There were more telephones in Leadville 
in 1880 than in any other city in the United 
States, to its population. Some of the best 
people of Brooklyn and New York lived there. 
The newspaper correspondents lost money in the 
gambling houses there, and so they didn't like 
Leadville, and told the world it was a bad place, 
which was a misrepresentation. It is a well known 
law of human nature that a man usually hates a 



106 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



place where he did not behave well. I found 
perfect order there, to my surprise. There was a 
vigilance committee in Leadville composed of 
bankers and merchants. It was their business 
to give a too cumbrous law a boost. The week 
before I got to Leadville this committee hanged 
two men. The next day eighty scoundrels took 
the hint and left Leadville. A great institution 
was the vigilance committee of those early 
Western days. They saved San Francisco, and 
Cheyenne, and Leadville. I wish they had been 
in Brooklyn when I was there. The West was not 
slow to assimilate the elegancies of life either. 
There were beautiful picture galleries in Omaha, 
and Denver, and Sacramento, and San Francisco. 
There was more elaboration and advancement of 
dress in the West than there was in the East in 
1880. The cravats of the young men in Cheyenne 
were quite as surprising, and the young ladies of 
Cheyenne went down the street with the elbow 
wabble, then fashionable in New York. San 
Francisco was Chicago intensified, and yet then 
it was a mere boy of a city, living in a garden of 
Eden, called California. On my return came 
Mr. Garfield's election. It was quietly and 
peaceably effected, but there followed that ex- 
posure of political outrages concerning his elec- 
tion, the Morey forgeries. I hoped then that this 
villainy would split the Republican and Demo- 
cratic parties into new fields, that it would spilt 
the North and the South into a different sectional 
feeling. I hoped that there would be a complete 
upheaval, a renewed and cleaner political system 
as a consequence. But the reform movement is 
always slower than any other. 

I remember the harsh things that were said in 
our denomination of Lucretia Mott, the quakeress, 
the reformer, the world-renowned woman preacher 



LUCRETIA MOTT 



107 



of the day. She was well nigh as old as the nation, 
eighty-eight years old, when she died. Her voice 
has never died in the plain meeting-houses of 
this country and England. I don't know that 
she was always right, but she always meant to be 
right. In Philadelphia, where she preached, I 
lived among people for years who could not men- 
tion her name without tears of gratitude for what 
she had done for them. There was great opposi- 
tion to her because she was the first woman 
preacher, but all who heard her speak knew she 
had a divine right of utterance. 

In November, 1880, Disraeli's great novel, 
" Endymion " was published by an American 
firm, Appleton & Co., a London publisher pay- 
ing the author the largest cash price ever paid 
for a manuscript up to that time — $50,000. 
Noah Webster made that much in royalties on 
his spelling book, but less on one of the greatest 
works given to the human race, his dictionary. 
There was a great literary impulse in American 
life, inspired by such American publishing houses 
as Appleton's, the Harper Bros., the Dodds, the 
Randolphs, and the Scribners. It was the 
brightest moment in American literature; far 
brighter than the day Victor Hugo, in youth, long 
anxious to enter the French Academy, applied to 
Callard for his vote. He pretended never to have 
heard of him. " Will you accept a copy of my 
books ? " asked Victor Hugo. " No thank you," 
replied the other ; "I never read new books." 
Riley offered to sell his 44 Universal Philosophy" for 
$500. The offer was refused. Great and wise authors 
have often been without food and shelter. Some- 
times governments helped them, as when Presi- 
dent Pierce appointed Julian Hawthorne to office, 
and Locke was made Commissioner of Appeals, 
and Steele State Commissioner of Stamps by the 



108 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



British Government. Oliver Goldsmith said : 
" I have been years struggling with a wretched 
being, with all that contempt which indigence 
brings with it, with all those strong passions 
which make contempt insupportable." Mr. 
Payne, the author of "Home, Sweet Home," had 
no home, and was inspired to the writing of his 
immortal song by a walk through the streets 
one slushy night, and hearing music and laughter 
inside a comfortable dwelling. The world- 
renowned Sheridan said: "Mrs. Sheridan and I 
were often obliged to keep writing for our daily 
shoulder of mutton; otherwise we should have 
had no dinner." Mitford, while he was writing 
his most celebrated book, lived in the fields, 
making his bed of grass and nettles, while two- 
pennyworth of bread and cheese with an onion 
was his daily food. I know of no more refreshing 
reading than the books of William Hazlitt. I 
take down from my shelf one of his many volumes, 
and I know not when to stop reading. So fresh 
and yet so old! But through all the volumes 
there comes a melancholy, accounted for by the 
fact that he had an awful struggle for bread. On 
his dying couch he had a friend write for him the 
following letter to Francis Jeffrey : — 

" Dear Sir, — I am at the last gasp. Please 
send me a hundred pounds. — Yours truly, 

" William Hazlitt." 

The money arrived the day after his death. 
Poor fellow ! I wish he had during his lifetime 
some of the tens of thousands of dollars that have 
since been paid in purchase of his books. He 
said on one occasion to a friend : "I have carried 
a volcano in my bosom up and down Paternoster 
Row for a good two hours and a half. Can you 



AUTHORSHIP AND POVERTY 109 



lend me a shilling ? I have been without food 
these two days." My readers, to-day the struggle 
of a good many literary people goes on. To be 
editor of a newspaper as I have been, and see the 
number of unavailable manuscripts that come in, 
crying out for five dollars, or anything to appease 
hunger and pay rent and get fuel ! Oh, it is heart- 
breaking ! After you have given all the money 
you can spare you will come out of your editorial 
rooms crying. 

Disraeli was seventy-five when " Endymion " 
was published. Disraeli's "Endymion" came at 
a time when books in America were greater than 
they ever were before or have been since. A 
flood of magazines came afterwards, and swamped 
them. Before this time new books were rarely 
made. Rich men began to endow them. It was 
a glorious way of spending money. Men sometimes 
give their money away because they have to give 
it up anyhow. Such men rarely give it to book- 
building. 

In January, 1881, Mr. George L. Seavey, a 
prominent Brooklyn man at that time, gave 
$50,000 to the library of the Historical Society 
of New York. Attending a reception one night 
in Brooklyn, I was shown his check, made out for 
that purpose. It was a great gift, one of the first 
given for the intellectual food of future book- 
worms. 

Most of the rich men of this time were devoting 
their means to making Senators. The legislatures 
were manufacturing a new brand, and turning 
them out made to order. Many of us were sur- 
prised at how little timber, and what poor quality, 
was needed to make a Senator in 1881. The nation 
used to make them out of stout, tall oaks. Many 
of those new ones were made of willow, and others 
out of crooked sticks. In most cases the strong 



110 THE SIXTH MILESTONE 



men defeated each other, and weak substitutes 
were put in. The forthcoming Congress was to 
be one of commonplace men. The strong men 
had to stay at home, and the accidents took their 
places in the government. Still there were leaders, 
North and South. 

My old friend Senator Brown of Georgia was 
one of the leaders of the South. He spoke 
vehemently in Congress in the cause of education. 
Only a few months before he had given, out of 
his private purse, forty thousand dollars to a 
Baptist college. He was a man who talked and 
urged a hearty union of feeling between the 
North and the South. He always hoped to 
abolish sectional feeling by one grand movement 
for the financial, educational, and moral welfare 
of the Nation. It was my urgent wish that 
President Garfield should invite Senator Brown to a 
place in his Cabinet, although the Senator would 
probably have refused the honour, for there was 
no better place to serve the American people than 
in the American Senate. 

During the first week in February, 1881, the 
world hovered over the death-bed of Thomas 
Carlyle. He was the great enemy of all sorts of 
cant, philosophical or religious. He was for half 
a century the great literary iconoclast. Daily 
bulletins of the sick-bed were published world- 
wide. There was no easy chair in his study, no 
soft divans. It was just a place to work, and to 
stay at work. I once saw a private letter, written 
by Carlyle to Thomas Chalmers. The first part 
of it was devoted to a eulogy of Chalmers, the 
latter part descriptive of his own religious doubts. 
He never wrote anything finer. It was beautiful, 
grand, glorious, melancholy. 

Thomas Carlyle started with the idea that the 
intellect was all, the body nothing but an adjunct, 



THOMAS CARLYLE 111 



an appendage. He would spur the intellect to 
costly energies, and send the body supperless 
to bed. After years of doubts and fears I learned 
that towards the end he returned to the sim- 
plicities of the Gospel. 

While this great thinker of the whole of life was 
sinking into his last earthly sleep, the men in the 
parliament of his nation were squabbling about 
future ambitions. Thirty-five Irish members 
were forcibly ejected. Neither Beaconsfield nor 
Gladstone could solve the Irish question. Nor 
do I believe it will ever be solved to the satis- 
faction of Ireland. But a greater calamity than 
those came upon us; in the summer of this year 
President Garfield was assassinated in Washington. 



THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



1881—1884 

On July 2, 1881, an attempt was made to 
assassinate President Garfield, at the Pennsyl- 
vania Station, Washington, where he was about 
to board a train. I heard the news first on the 
railroad train at Williamstown, Mass., where the 
President was expected in three or four days. 

" Absurd, impossible," I said. Why should 
anyone want to kill him ? He had nothing but 
that which he had earned with his own brain and 
hand. He had fought his own way up from country 
home to college hall, and from college hall to 
the House of Representatives, and from House of 
Representatives to the Senate Chamber, and from 
the Senate Chamber to the Presidential chair. 
Why should anyone want to kill him ? He was 
not a despot who had been treading on the rights 
of the people. There was nothing of the Nero 
or the Robespierre in him. He had wronged no 
man. He was free and happy himself, and 
wanted all the world free and happy. Why 
should anyone want to kill him ? He had a 
family to shepherd and educate, a noble wife and 
a group of little children leaning on his arm and 
holding his hand, and who needed him for many 
years to come. 

Only a few days before, I had paid him a visit. 



112 



PRESIDENT GARFIELD'S INFLUENCE 113 



He was a bitter antagonist of Mormonism, and 
I was in deep sympathy with his Christian en- 
deavours in this respect. I never saw a more 
anxious or perturbed countenance than James A. 
Garfield's, the last time I met him. It seemed a 
great relief to him to turn to talk to my child, 
who was with me. He had suffered enough abuse 
in his political campaign to suffice for one life- 
time. He was then facing three or four years of 
insult and contumely greater than any that had 
been heaped upon his predecessors. He had 
proposed greater reforms, and by so much he was 
threatened to endure worse outrages. His term 
of office was just six months, but he accomplished 
what forty years of his predecessors had failed 
to do — the complete and eternal pacification of 
the North and the South. There were more public 
meetings of sympathy for him, at this time, in the 
South than there were in the North. His death- 
bed in eight weeks did more for the sisterhood 
of States than if he had lived eight years — two 
terms of the Presidency. His cabinet followed 
the reform spirit of his leadership. Postmaster 
General James made his department illustrious by 
spreading consternation among the scoundrels of 
the Star Route, saving the country millions of 
dollars. Secretary Windom wrought what the 
bankers and merchants called a financial miracle. 
Robert Lincoln, the son of another martyred 
President, was Secretary of War. 

Guiteau was no more crazy than thousands of 
other place-hunters. He had been refused an 
office, and he was full of unmingled and burning 
revenge. There was nothing else the matter 
with him. It was just this : " You haven't given 
me what I want ; now I'll kill you." For months 
after each presidential inauguration the hotels 
of Washington are roosts for these buzzards. 



114 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



They are the crawling vermin of this nation, 
Guiteau was no rarity. There were hundreds of 
Guiteaus in Washington after the inauguration, 
except that they had not the courage to shoot. 
I saw them some two months or six weeks 
after. They were mad enough to do it. I saw it 
in their eyes. 

They killed two other Presidents, William 
Henry Harrison and Zachary Taylor. I know the 
physicians called the disease congestion of the 
lungs or liver, but the plain truth was that 
they were worried to death ; they were trampled 
out of life by place-hunters. Three Presidents 
sacrificed to this one demon are enough. I urged 
Congress at the next session to start a work of 
presidential emancipation. Four Presidents have 
recommended civil service reform, and it has 
amounted to little or nothing. But this assassina- 
tion I hoped would compel speedy and decisive 
action. 

James A. Garfield was prepared for eternity. 
He often preached the Gospel. " I heard him 
preach, he preached for me in my pulpit," a 
minister told me. He preached once in Wall 
Street to an excited throng, after Lincoln was 
shot. He preached to the wounded soldiers at 
Chickamauga. He preached in the United States 
Senate, in speeches of great nobility. When a 
college boy, camped on the mountains, he read 
the Scriptures aloud to his companions. After 
he was shot, he declared that he trusted all in 
the Lord's hand — was ready to live or die. 

" If the President die, what of his successor ? " 
was the great question of the hour. I did not 
know Mr. Arthur at that time, but I prophesied 
that Mr. Garfield's policies would be carried out 
by his successor. 

I consider President Garfield was a man with 



PRESIDENT ARTHUR 115 



the most brilliant mind who ever occupied the 
White House. He had strong health, a splendid 
physique, a fine intellect. If Guiteau's bullet 
had killed the President instantly, there would 
have been a revolution in this country. 

He lingered amid the prayers of the nation, 
surrounded by seven of the greatest surgeons 
and physicians of the hour. Then he passed on. 
His son was preparing a scrap-book of all the 
kind things that had been said about his father, 
to show him when he recovered. That was a 
tender forethought of one who knew how unjustly 
he had suffered the slanders of his enemies. There 
was much talk about presidential inability, and 
in the midst of this public bickering Chester A. 
Arthur became president. He took office, amid 
severe criticism. I urged the appointment of 
Frederick T. Frelinghuysen to the President's 
Cabinet, feeling that Mr. Arthur would have in 
this distinguished son of New Jersey, a devout, 
evangelical, Christian adviser. In October I 
paid a visit to Mr. Garfield's home in Mentor, 
Ohio. On the hat-rack in the hall was his hat, 
where he had left it, when the previous March 
he left for his inauguration in Washington. I 
left that bereaved household with a feeling that a 
full explanation of this event must be adjourned 
to the next state of my existence. 

The new President was gradually becoming, on 
all sides, the bright hope of our national future. 
In after years I learned to know him and admire 
him. 

In the period of transition that followed the 
President's assassination we lost other good men. 

We lost Senator Burnside of Rhode Island, at 
one time commander of the Army of the Potomac, 
and three times Governor of his State. I met 
him at a reception given in the home of my friend 



116 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



Judge Hilton, in Woodlawn, at Saratoga Springs. 
He had an imperial presence, coupled with the 
utterance of a child. The Senator stood for 
purity in politics. No one ever bought him, or 
tried to buy him. He held no stock in the Credit 
Mobilier. He shook hands with none of the 
schemes that appealed to Congress to fleece the 
people. He died towards the close of 1881. 

A man of greater celebrity, of an entirely 
different quality, who had passed on, was about 
this time to be honoured with an effigy in West- 
minster Abbey — Dean Stanley. I still remember 
keenly the afternoon I met him in the Deanery 
adjoining the abbey. There was not much of the 
physical in his appearance. His mind and soul 
seemed to have more than a fair share of his 
physical territory. He had only just enough 
body to detain the soul awhile on earth. 

And then we lost Samuel B. Stewart. The 
most of Brooklyn knew him — the best part of 
Brooklyn knew him. I knew him long before I 
ever came to Brooklyn. He taught me to read in 
the village school. His parents and mine were 
buried in the same place. A few weeks later, the 
Rev. Dr. Bellows of New York went. I do not 
believe that the great work done by this good man 
was ever written. It was during that long agony 
when the war hospitals were crowded with the 
sick, the wounded, and the dying. He enlisted 
his voice and his pen and his fortune to alleviate 
their suffering. I was on the field as a chaplain 
for a very little while, and a little while looking 
after the sick in Philadelphia, and I noticed that 
the Sanitary Commission, of which Dr. Bellows was 
the presiding spirit, was constantly busy with 
ambulances, cordials, nurses, necessaries and 
supplies. Many a dying soldier was helped by 
the mercy of this good man's energies, and many 



DR. BELLOWS 



117 



a farewell message was forwarded home. The 
civilians who served the humanitarian causes of 
the war, like Dr. Bellows, have not received the 
recognition they should. Only the military men 
have been honoured with public office. 

The chief menace of the first year of President 
Arthur's administration was the danger of a 
policy to interfere in foreign affairs, and the danger 
of extravagance in Washington, due to innumer- 
able appropriation bills. There was a war between 
Chili and Peru, and the United States Govern- 
ment offered to mediate for Chili. It was a 
pitiable interference with private rights, and I 
regretted this indication of an unnecessary foreign 
policy in this country. In addition to this, there 
were enough appropriation bills in Washington to 
swamp the nation financially. I had stood for 
so many years in places where I could see clearly 
the ungodly affairs of political life in my own 
country, that the progress of politics became to 
me a hopeless thing. 

The political nominations of 1882 involved no 
great principles. In New York State this was 
significant, because it brought before the nation 
Mr. Grover Cleveland as a candidate for Governor 
against Mr. Folger. The general opinion of these 
two men in the unbiassed public mind was 
excellent. They were men of talent and integrity. 
They were not merely actors in the political play. 
I have buried professional politicians, and the 
most of them made a very bad funeral for a 
Christian minister to speak at. I always wanted, 
at such a time, an Episcopal prayer book, which is 
made for all cases, and may not be taken either as 
invidious or too assuring. 

There was another contest, non-political, that 
interested the nation in 1882. It was the 
Sullivan-Ryan prize-fight. I had no great 



118 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



objection to find with it, as did so many other 
ministers. It suggested a far better symbol of 
arbitration between two differing opinions than 
war. If Mr. Disraeli had gone out and met a 
distinguished Zulu on the field of English battle, 
and fought their national troubles out, as Sullivan 
and Ryan did, what a saving of life and money ! 
How many lives could have been saved if 
Napoleon and Wellington, orMoltke and McMahon 
had emulated the spirit of the Sullivan-Ryan 
prize fight ! I saw no reasonable cause why the 
law should interfere between two men who desired 
to pound one another in public ; I stood alone 
almost among my brethren in this conclusion. 

The persecution of the Jews in Russia, which 
came to us at this time with all its details of cruelty 
and horror, was the beginning of an important 
chapter in American history. Dr. Adler, in 
London, had appealed for a million pounds to 
transport the Jews who were driven out of Russia 
to the United States. It seemed more important 
that civilisation should unite in an effort to secure 
protection for them in their own homes, than com- 
pel them to obey the will of Russia. This was no 
Christian remedy. We might as well abuse the 
Jews in America, and then take up a collection to 
send them to England or Australia. The Jews 
were entitled to their own rights of property and 
personal liberty and religion, whether they lived 
in New York, or Brooklyn, or London, or Paris, or 
Warsaw, or Moscow, or St. Petersburg. And yet 
we were constantly hearing of the friendly feeling 
between Russia and the United States. 

In after years I was privileged personally to 
address the Czar and his family, in a private 
audience, and questions of the Russian problem 
were discussed; but the Jews flocked to America, 
and we welcomed them, and they learned to be 



HENRY WARD BEECHER 119 



Americans very rapidly. Their immigration to 
this country was a matter of religious conscience, 
in which Russia had no interest. 

A man's religious comvictions are most im- 
portant. I remember in October, 1882, what 
criticism and abuse there was of my friend Henry 
Ward Beecher, when he decided to resign from the 
religious associations of which he was a member. 
I was asked by members of the press to give my 
opinion, but I was out when they called. Mr. 
Beecher was right. He was a man of courage and 
of heart. I shall never forget the encouragement 
and goodwill he extended to me, when I first came 
to Brooklyn in 1869 and took charge of a broken- 
down church. Mr. Beecher did just as I would 
have done under the same circumstances. I 
could not nor would stay in the denomination 
to which I belonged any longer than it would 
take me to write my resignation, if I disbelieved 
its doctrines. Mr. Beecher's theology was very 
different from mine, but he did not differ from 
me in the Christian life, any more than I differed 
from him. He never interfered with me, nor I 
with him. Every little while some of the ministers 
of America were attacked by a sort of Beecher- 
phobia, and they foamed at the mouth over 
something that the pastor of Plymouth Church 
said. People who have small congregations are 
apt to dislike a preacher who has a full church. 
For thirteen years, or more, Beecher's church 
and mine never collided. He had more people 
than he knew what to do with, and so had I. I 
belonged to the company of the orthodox, but 
if I thought that orthodoxy demanded that I 
must go and break other people's heads I would 
not remain orthodox five minutes. Brooklyn 
was called the city of churches, but it could also 
be called the city of short pastorates. Many of the 



120 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



churches, during fifteen years of my pastorate, had 
two, three, and four pastors. Dr. Scudder came 
and went ; so did Dr. Patten, Dr. Frazer, Dr. 
Buckley, Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Reid, Dr. Steele, Dr. 
Gallagher, and a score of others. The Methodist 
Church was once famous for keeping a minister 
only three or four years, but it is no longer 
peculiar in this respect. Mr. Beecher had been 
pastor for thirty-six years in Brooklyn when, 
in the summer of 1883, he celebrated the anniver- 
sary of his seventieth birthday. 

Every now and then, for many years, there was 
an investigation of some sort in Brooklyn. Our 
bridge was a favourite target of investigation. 
" Where has the money for this great enter- 
prise been expended ? " was the common ques- 
tion. I defended the trustees, because people 
did not realise the emergencies that arose as 
the work progressed and entailed greater ex- 
penditures. Originally, when projected, it was 
to cost $7,000,000, but there was to be only 
one waggon road. It was resolved later to 
enlarge the structure and build two waggon 
roads, and a place for trains, freight, and passen- 
ger cars. Those enlarged plans were all to the 
ultimate advantage of the growth of Brooklyn. 
It was at first intended to make the approaches 
of the bridge in trestle work, then plans were 
changed and they were built of granite. The 
cable, which was originally to be made of iron, 
was changed to steel. For three years these 
cables were the line on which the passengers on 
ferry-boats hung their jokes about swindling and 
political bribery. No investigation was able to 
shake my respect for the integrity of Mr. 
Stranahan, one of the bridge trustees. He did as 
much for Brooklyn as any man in it. He was the 
promoter of Prospect Park, designed and planned 



BROOKLYN BRIDGE 121 



from his head and heart. With all the powers at 
my disposal I defended the bridge trustee. 

There was an attempt in New York, towards 
the close of 1882, to present the Passion Play 
on the stage of a theatre. A licence was applied 
for. The artist, no matter how high in his pro- 
fession, who would dare to appear in the character 
of the Divine Person, was fit only for the Tombs 
prison or Sing-Sing. I had no objection to any 
man attempting the role of Judas Iscariot. That 
was entirely within the limitations of stage art. 
Seth Low was Mayor of Brooklyn, and Mr. Grace 
was Mayor of New York — a Protestant and a 
Catholic — and yet they were of one opinion on 
this proposed blasphemy. 

I think everyone in America realised that the 
Democratic victory in the election of Grover 
Cleveland, by a majority of 190,000 votes, as 
Governor of New York, was a presidential 
prophecy. The contest for President came up, 
seriously, in the spring of 1883, and the same 
headlines appeared in the political caucus. Among 
the candidates was Benjamin F. Butler, Governor 
of Massachusetts. I believed then there was not a 
better man in the United States for President than 
Chester A. Arthur. I believed that his faith- 
fulness and dignity in office should be honoured 
with the nomination. There was some surprise 
occasioned when Harvard refused to confer an 
LL.D. on Governor Butler, a rebuke that no 
previous Governor of Massachusetts had suffered. 
After all, the country was chiefly impressed in 
this event with the fact that an LL.D., or a D.D., 
or an F.R.S., did not make the man. Americans 
were becoming very good readers of character; 
they could see at a glance the difference between 
right and wrong, but they were tolerant of both. 
Much more so than I was. There was one great 



122 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



fault in American character that the whole world 
admired; it was our love of hero-worship. A 
great man was the man who did great things, no 
matter what that man might stand for in religion 
or in morals. 

There was Gambetta, whose friendship for 
America had won the admiration of our country. 
I myself admired his eloquence, his patriotism, 
his courage in office as Prime Minister of France ; 
but his dying words rolled like a wintry sea over 
all nations, 6b I am lost ! " Gambetta was an 
atheist, a man whose public indignities to woman- 
hood were demonstrated from Paris to Berlin. 
Gambetta's patriotism for France could never 
atone for his atheism, and his infamy towards 
women. His death, in the dawn of 1883, was a 
page in the world's history turned down at the 
corner. 

What an important year it was to be for us! 
In the spring of 1883 the Brooklyn bridge was 
opened, and our church was within fifteen or 
twenty minutes of the hotel centre of New York. 
I said then that many of us would see the popu- 
lation of Brooklyn quadrupled and sextupled. 
In many respects, up to this time, Brooklyn had 
been treated as a suburb of New York, a dormitory 
for tired Wall Streeters. With the completion 
of the bridge came new plans for rapid transit, 
for the widening of our streets, for the advance- 
ment of our municipal interests. A consolidation 
of Brooklyn and New York was then under dis- 
cussion. It was a bad look-out for office-holders, 
but a good one for tax-payers. At least that was 
the prospect, but I never will see much encourage- 
ment in American politics. 

The success of Grover Cleveland and his big 
majority, as Governor, led both wings of the Demo- 
cratic party to promise us the millennium. Even 



GROVER CLEVELAND 123 



the Republicans were full of national optimism, 
going over to the Democrats to help the jubilee 
of reform. Four months later, although we were 
told that Mr. Cleveland was to be President, he 
could not get his own legislature to ratify his 
nomination. His hands were tied, and his idolaters 
were only waiting for his term of office to expire. 
The politicians lied about him. Because as 
Governor of New York he could not give all the 
office-seekers places, he was, in a few months, 
executed by his political friends, and the millennium 
was postponed that politics might have time to 
find someone else to be lifted up — and in turn 
hurled into oblivion. 

That the politics of our country might serve a 
wider purpose, a great agitation among the news- 
papers began. The price of the great dailies came 
down from four to three cents, and from three to 
two cents. In a week it looked as though they 
would all be down to one cent. I expected to see 
them delivered free, with a bonus given for the 
favour of taking them at all. It was not a pleas- 
ant outlook, this deluge of printed matter, 
cheapened in every way, by cheaper labour, 
cheaper substance, and cheaper grammar. It 
was a plan that enlarged the scope of influence 
over what was arrogantly claimed as editorial 
territory — public opinion. Public opinion is 
sound enough, so long as it is not taken too 
seriously in the newspapers. 

The difference between a man as his antagonists 
depict him, and as he really is in his own character, 
may be as wide as the ocean. I was particularly 
impressed with this fact when I met the Rev. Dr. 
Ewer of New York, who had been accused of being 
disputatious and arrogant. Truth was, he was 
a master in the art of religious defence, wielding 
a scimitar of sharp edge. I never met a man 



124 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



with more of the childlike, the affable, and the 
self-sacrificing qualities than Dr. Ewer had. 

He was an honest man in the highest sense, 
with a never-varying purity of purpose. Dr. 
Ewer died in the fall of 1883. 

I began to feel that in the local management of 
our own big city there was an uplift, when two 
such sterling young men as James W. Ridge way, 
and Joseph C. Hendrix, were nominated for Dis- 
trict Attorney. They were merely technical 
opponents, but were united in the cause of reform 
and honest administration against our criminal 
population. We were fortunate in the degree 
of promise there was, in having a choice of such 
competent nominees. But it was a period of 
historical jubilee in our country, this fall of 
1883. 

We were celebrating centennials everywhere, 
even at Harvard. It seemed to be about a hun- 
dred years back since anything worth while had 
really happened in America. Since 1870 there 
had been a round of centennials. It was a good 
thing in the busy glorification of a brilliant 
present, and a glorious future, that we rehearsed 
the struggle and hardships by which we had 
arrived to this great inheritance of blessing and 
prosperity. 

" The United States Government is a bubble- 
bursting nationality," said Lord John Russell, 
but every year since has disproved the accuracy 
of this jeer. Even our elections disproved it. 
Candidates for the Presidency are pushed out of 
sight by a sudden wave of split tickets. In the 
elections of 1883, in Ohio ten candidates were 
obliterated; in Pennsylvania five were buried 
and fifteen resurrected. In Indiana, the record 
of names in United States political quicksands 
is too long too consider, the new candidates that 



PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES 125 



sprang up being still larger in numbers. And yet 
only six men in any generation become President. 
Out of five thousand men, who consider themselves 
competent to be captains, only six are crowned 
with their ambition. And these six are not gener- 
ally the men who had any prospect of becoming 
the people's choice. The two political chiefs in 
convention, failing on the thirtieth ballot to get 
the nomination, some less conspicuous man is 
chosen as a compromise. Political ambition 
seems to me a poor business. There are men more 
worthy of national praise than the successful poli- 
ticians ; men like Isaac Hull ; men whose generous 
gifts and Christian careers perpetuate the magni- 
ficent purposes of our lives. Isaac Hull was a 
Quaker — one of the best in that sect. I lived 
among quakers for seven years in Philadelphia, 
and I loved them. Mr. Hull illustrated in his life 
the principles of his sect, characterised by in- 
tegrity of finance and of soul. He rose to the 
front rank of public-spirited men, from the humble 
duties of a farmer's boy. He was one of the most 
important members of the Society of Friends, 
and I valued the privilege of his friendship more 
than that of any celebrity I ever knew. He lived 
for the profit in standards rather than for wealth, 
and he passed on to a wider circle of friends 
beyond. 

I have a little list of men who about this time 
passed away amid many antagonisms — men who 
were misunderstood while they lived. I knew 
their worth. There was John McKean, the Dis- 
trict Attorney of New York, who died in 1883, 
when criticism against him, of lawyers and judges, 
was most bitter and cruel. A brilliant lawyer, he 
was accused of non-performance of duty ; but he 
died, knowing nothing of the delays complained 
of. He was blamed for what he could not help. 



126 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



Some stroke of ill-health ; some untoward wordly 
circumstances, or something in domestic con- 
ditions will often disqualify a man for service ; and 
yet he is blamed for idleness, for having posses- 
sions when the finances are cramped, for temper 
when the nerves have given out, for misanthropy 
when he has had enough to disgust him for ever 
with the human race. After we have exhausted 
the vocabulary of our abuse, such men die, and 
there is no reparation we can make. In spite of 
the abuse John McKean received, the courts ad- 
journed in honour of his death — but that was a 
belated honour. McKean was one of the kindest 
of men; he was merciful and brave. 

There was Henry Villard, whose bankruptcy 
of fortune killed him. He was compelled to 
resign the presidency of the Northern Pacific 
Railroad Company, to resign his fortune, to 
resign all but his integrity. That he kept, though 
every dollar had gone. Only two years before his 
financial collapse he was worth $30,000,000. In 
putting the great Northern Pacific Railroad 
through he swamped everything he had. All 
through Minnesota and the North-west I heard 
his praises. He was a man of great heart and 
unbounded generosity, on which fed innumerable 
human leeches, enough of them to drain the life 
of any fortune that was ever made. On a mag- 
nificent train he once took, free of charge, to the 
Yellowstone Park, a party of men, who denounced 
him because, while he provided them with every 
luxury, they could not each have a separate 
drawing-room car to themselves. I don't believe 
since the world began there went through this 
country so many titled nonentities as travelled 
then, free of cost, on the generous bounty of Mr. 
Villard. The most of these people went home to 
the other side of the sea, and wrote magazine 



WENDELL PHILLIPS 127 



articles on the conditions of American society, 
while Mr. Villard went into bankruptcy. It was 
the last straw that broke the camel's back. It 
would not be so bad if riches only had wings with 
which to fly away ; but they have claws with 
which they give a parting clutch that sometimes 
clips a man's reason, or crushes his heart. It is 
the claw of riches we must look out for. 

Then there was Wendell Phillips ! Not a man 
in this country was more admired and more 
hated than he was. Many a time, addressing a 
big audience, he would divide them into two 
parts — those who got up to leave with indigna- 
tion, and those who remained to frown. He was 
often, during a lecture, bombarded with bricks 
and bad eggs. But he liked it. He could 
endure anything in an audience but silence, and 
he always had a secure following of admirers. 

He told me once that in some of the back 
country towns of Pennsylvania it nearly killed him 
to lecture. " I go on for an hour," he told me, 
" without hearing one response, and I have no 
way of knowing whether the people are instructed, 
pleased, or outraged." 

He enjoyed the tempestuous life. His other 
life was home. It was dominant in his appre- 
ciation. He owed much of his courage to that 
home. Lecturing in Boston once, during most 
agitated times, he received this note from his 
wife : " No shilly-shallying, Wendell, in the 
presence of this great public outrage." Many 
men in public life owe their strength to this 
reservoir of power at home. 

The last fifteen years of his life were devoted to 
the domestic invalidism of his home. Some men 
thought this was unjustifiable. But what ex- 
haustion of home life had been given to establish 
his public career! A popular subscription was 



128 THE SEVENTH MILESTONE 



started to raise a monument in Boston to Wendell 
Phillips. I recommended that it should be built 
within sight of the monument erected to Daniel 
Webster. If there were ever two men who during 
their life had an appalling antagonism, they were 
Daniel Webster and Wendell Phillips. I hoped at 
that time their statues would be erected facing 
each other. Wendell Phillips was fortunate in his 
domestic tower of strength ; still, I have known 
men whose domestic lives were painful in the 
extreme, and yet they arose above this deficiency 
to great personal prominence. 

What is good for one man is not good for 
another. It is the same with State rights as it 
is with private rights. In '83-'84, the whole 
country was agitated about the questions of 
tariff reform and free trade. Tariff reform for 
Pennsylvania, free trade for Kentucky. New Eng- 
land and the North-west had interests that would 
always be divergent. It was absurd to try and 
persuade the American people that what was good 
for one State was good for another State. 
Common-intelligence showed how false this theory 
was. Until by some great change the manufac- 
turing interests of the country should become 
national interests, co-operation and compromise 
in inter-state commerce was necessary. No one 
section of the country could have its own way. 
The most successful candidate for the Presidency 
at this time seemed to be the man who could 
most bewilder the public mind on these questions. 
Blessed in politics is the political fog ! 

The most significantly hopeful fact to me was 
that the three prominent candidates for Speaker- 
ship at the close of 1883 — Mr. Carlisle, Mr. Randall, 
and Mr. Cox — never had wine on their tables. 
We were, moreover, getting away from the old 
order of things, when senators were conspicuous in 



THE WORLD'S PROGRESS 129 



gambling houses. The world was advancing in a 
spiritual transit of events towards the close. It 
was time that it gave way to something even 
better. It had treated me gloriously, and I had 
no fault to find with it, but I had seen so many 
millions in hunger and pain, and wretchedness 
and woe that I felt this world needed either to be 
fixed up or destroyed. 

The world had had a hard time for six thousand 
years, and, as the new year of 1884 approached, 
there were indications that our planet was getting 
restless. There were earthquakes, great storms, 
great drought. It may last until some of my 
descendants shall head their letters with January 
1, 15,000, A.D. ; but I doubt it. 



K 



THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



1884—1885 

I reached the fiftieth year of my life in Decem- 
ber, 1883. In my long residence in Brooklyn 
I had found it to be the healthiest city in the 
world. It had always been a good place to live 
in — plenty of fresh air blowing up from the 
sea — plenty of water rolling down through our 
reservoirs — the Sabbaths too quiet to attract 
ruffianism. 

Of all the men I have seen and heard and 
known, there were but a few deep friendships that 
I depended upon. In February, 1884, I lost one 
of these by the decease of Thomas Kinsella, a 
Brooklyn man of public affairs, of singular 
patriotism and local pride. 

Years ago, when I was roughly set upon by 
ecclesiastical assailants, he gave one wide swing 
of his editorial scimitar, which helped much in 
their ultimate annihilation . My acquaintance with 
him was slight at the time, and I did not ask him 
to help me. I can more easily forget a wrong 
done to me than I can forget a kindness. He 
was charitable to many who never knew of it. 
By reason of my profession, there came to me 
many stories of distress and want, and it was al- 
ways Mr. Kinsella's hand that was open to 
befriend the suffering. Bitter in his editorial 

130 



THOMAS KINSELLA 131 



antagonisms, he was wide in his charities. One 
did not have to knock at many iron gates to reach 
his sympathies. 

Mr. Kinsella died of overwork, from the toil of 
years that taxed his strength. None but those 
who have been behind the scenes can appreciate 
the energies that are required in making up a 
great daily newspaper. Its demands for " copy " 
come with such regularity. Newspaper writers 
must produce just so much, whether they feel like 
it or not. There is no newspaper vacation. So 
the commanders-in-chief of the great dailies often 
die of overwork. Henry J. Raymond died that 
way, Samuel Bowles, Horace Greeley. Once in a 
while there are surviving veterans like Thurlow 
Weed, or Erastus Brooks, or James Watson Webb 
— but they shifted the most of the burden on 
others as they grew old. Success in any calling 
means drudgery, sacrifice, push, and tug, but 
especially so in the ranks of the newspaper 
armies. 

A great many of us, however, about this time, 
survived a worse fate, though how we did it is 
still a mystery of the period. We discovered, in 
the spring of 1884, that we had been eating and 
drinking things not to be mentioned. Honest 
old-fashioned butter had melted and run out of 
the world. Instead of it we had trichinosis in all 
styles served up morning and evening — all the 
evils of the food creation set before us in raw 
shape, or done up in puddings, pies, and gravies. 
The average hotel hash was innocent merriment 
compared to our adulterated butter. The can- 
dies, which we bought for our children, under 
chemical analysis, were found to be crystallised 
disease. Lozenges were of red lead. Coffees and 
teas were so adulterated that we felt like Charles 
Lamb, who, in a similar predicament, said, " If 



132 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



this be coffee, give me tea ; and if it be tea, give 
me coffee." Even our medicines were so craftily 
adulterated that they were sure to kill. There 
was alum in our bread, chalk in our milk, glass in 
our sugar, Venetian red in our cocoa, and heaven 
knows what in the syrup. 

Too much politics in our food threatened to 
demoralise our large cities. The same thing had 
happened in London, in 1868. We survived it, 
kept on preaching against it, and giving money 
to prosecute the guilty. It was an age of pursuit ; 
ministers pursuing ministers, lawyers pursuing 
lawyers, doctors, merchants, even Arctic ex- 
plorers pursuing one another, the North Pole a 
jealous centre of interest. Everything is frozen in 
the Arctic region save the jealousies of the Arctic 
explorers. Even the North Pole men were like 
others. This we discovered in 1884, when, in 
Washington, the post-mortem trial of DeLong 
and his men was in progress. There was nothing 
to be gained by the controversy. There were 
no laurels to be awarded by this investigation, 
because the men whose fame was most involved 
were dead. It was a quarrel, and the " Jean- 
nette " was the graveyard in which it took place. 
It was disgraceful. 

Jealousy is the rage of a man, also of a woman. 

It was evident, in the progress of this one-sided 
trial, that our legislature needed to have their 
corridors, their stairways, and their rooms cleaned 
of lobbyists. 

At the State Capital in Albany, one bright 
spring morning in the same year, the legislature 
rose and shook itself, and the Sergeant-at-Arms 
was instructed to drive the squad of lobbyists 
out of the building. He did it so well that he 
scarcely gave them time to get their canes or 
their hats. Some of the lowest men in New York 



REAL HEROES 



133 



and Brooklyn were among them. That was a 
spring cleaning worth while. But it was only a 
little corner of the political arena that was 
unclean. 

I remember how eagerly, when I went to 
Canada in April, the reporters kept asking me who 
would be the next President. It would have been 
such an easy thing to answer if I had only known 
who the man was. In this dilemma I suggested 
some of our best presidential timber in Brooklyn as 
suitable candidates. These were General Slocum, 
General Woodford, General Tracey, Mayor Low, 
Judge Pratt, Judge Tierney, Mr. Stranahan, and 
Judge Neilson. Some of these men had been 
seriously mentioned for the office. Honourable 
mention was all they got, however. They were 
too unpretentious for the role. It was the begin- 
ning of a mud- slinging campaign. New York 
versus New York — Brooklyn versus Brooklyn. 

I long ago came to the conclusion that the real 
heroes of the world were on the sea. The 
ambitions of men crowded together on land were 
incontestably disgusting. On the vast, restless 
deep men stand alone, in brave conflict with 
constant danger. I was always deeply impressed 
by the character of men, as revealed in disasters 
of the sea. There were many of them during my 
life-time. The bigger the ships grew, the more 
dangerous became ocean travel. Our improve- 
ments seemed to add to the humour of grim old 
Neptune. In 1884 the ocean was becoming a 
great turnpike road, and people were required by 
law to keep to the right or to the left. A popula- 
tion of a million sailors was on the sea at all times. 
Some of the ships were too busy to stop to save 
human lives, as was the case in the disaster of the 
44 Florida." In distress, her captain hailed 64 The 
City of Rome," a monster of the deep. But 



134 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



" The City of Rome " had no time to stop, and 
passed on by. The lifeboats of the " Florida " 
were useless shells, utterly unseaworthy. The 
" Florida " was unfit for service. John Bayne, 
the engineer, was the hero who lost his life to 
save others. But this was becoming a common 
story of the sea ; for when the " Schiller " went 
down, Captain Thomas gave his life for others. 
When the " Central- America " sank, President 
Arthur's father-in-law perished in the same way. 
Every shipwreck I have known seems lighted up 
with some marvellous deed of heroism in man. 

In 1884 there was a failure in Wall Street for 
eight or ten million dollars, and hundreds went 
down during this shipwreck. By heroism and 
courage alone were they able to outlive it. To 
whom did all this money belong ? To those who 
were drowned in the storm of financial sea. But 
it was only a Wall Street flurry ; it did not affect 
the national ship as it would have done twenty 
years before. The time had passed when Wall 
Street could jeopardise the commerce of the 
country. Twenty years before, such a calamity 
in three days' time would have left all the business 
of the nation in the dust. It would have crashed 
down all the banks, the insurance companies, the 
stock-houses. New York, Boston, Philadelphia, 
San Francisco, New Orleans — from coast to coast, 
everything would have tumbled down. 

The principal lesson derived from this panic 
was to keep excitable men out of Wall Street. 
While the romance of a failure for hundreds of 
thousands of dollars is more appealing than a 
failure for a small sum, the greater the deficit 
the greater the responsibility. Ferdinand Ward 
was in this Wall Street crash of 1883. The 
roseate glasses of wealth through which he saw 
the world had made him also see millions in 



FINANCIAL DISASTER 135 



every direction. George L. Seney lost hi s| bank 
and railroad stock in this failure, but he had 
given hundreds of thousands to the cause of 
education, North and South. Some people 
regretted that he had not kept his fortune to 
help him out of his trouble. I believe there were 
thousands of good people all over the country 
who prayed that this philanthropist might be 
restored to wealth. There was one man in Wall 
Street at this time who I said could not fail. He 
was Mr. A. S. Hatch, President of the New York 
Stock Exchange. He had given large sums of 
money to Christian work, and was personally an 
active church member. 

That which I hear about men who are unfortun- 
ate makes no impression on me. There is always 
a great jubilee over the downfall of a financier. 
I like to put the best phase possible upon a man's 
misfortune. No one begrudged the wealth of the 
rich men of the past. 

The world was becoming too compressed, it 
was said; there was not room enough to get away 
from your troubles. All the better. It was 
getting to a compactness that could be easily 
poked up and divinely appropriated. A new cable 
was landed at Rockport, Mass., that was to bring 
the world into closer reunion of messages. We 
were to have cheaper cable service under the 
management of the Commercial Cable Company. 
Simultaneously with this information, the s.s. 
"America" made the astounding record of a trip 
from shore to shore of the Atlantic, in six days 
fourteen hours and eighteen minutes. It was a 
startling symbol of future wonders. I promised 
then to exchange pulpits with any church in 
England once a month. It seemed a possibility, 
as proposed in Mr. Corbin's scheme of harbours 
at Montauk Point. There were pauses in the 



136 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



breathless speed we were just beginning at this 
time. We paused to say farewell to the good 
men whom we were passing by. They were not 
spectacular. Some of them will no doubt be 
unknown to the reader. 

A gentle old man, his face illumined always by 
a radiant smile, fell behind. He was Bishop 
Simpson. We paused to bid him farewell. In 
1863, walking the streets of Philadelphia one 
night with an army surgeon, we passed the 
Academy of Music in that city, where a meeting 
was being held on behalf of the Christian Com- 
mission, the object of which was to take care of 
wounded soldiers. As we stood at the back of 
the stage listening, the meeting seemed to be 
very dull. A speaker was introduced. His voice 
was thin, his manner unimpressive. My friend 
said, " Let's go," but I replied, " Wait until we 
see what there is in him." Suddenly, he grew 
upon us. The address became adorned with a 
pathos, a sublimity, and an enthusiasm that 
overwhelmed the audience. When the speaker 
sat down, I inquired who he was. 

" That is Bishop Simpson," said my informant. 
In later years, I learned that the Bishop's address 
that night was the great hour of his life. His 
reputation became national. He was one of the 
few old men who knew how to treat young men. 
He used no gestures on the platform, no climaxes, 
no dramatic effects of voice, yet he was eloquent 
beyond description. His earnestness broke over 
and broke through all rules of rhetoric. He made 
his audiences think and feel as he did himself. 
That, I believe, is the best of a man's inner 
salvation. 

In the autumn of the same year we paused to 
close the chapters of Jerry McCauley's life, a man 
who had risen from the depths of crime and sin — 



JERRY McCAULEY 137 



a different sort of man from Bishop Simpson. 
He was born in the home of a counterfeiter. He 
became a thief, an outlaw. By an influence that 
many consider obsolete and old-fashioned, he 
became converted, and was recognised by the best 
men and women in New York and Brooklyn. I 
knew McCauley. I stood with him on the steps 
of his mission in Water Street. He was a river 
thief changed into an angel. It was supernatural, 
a miracle. McCauley gave twelve years to his 
mission work. Two years before his death he 
changed his quarters, converting a dive into a 
House of God. What an imbecile city govern- 
ment refused to touch was surrendered to hosan- 
nas and doxologies. The story of Jerry McCauley 's 
missionary work in the heart of a wicked 
section of New York was called romantic. I 
attest that I am just as keenly sensitive to the 
beauty of romance as any human being, but 
there was a great deal that was called romantic 
in American life in 1884-1885 that was not so. 
Romance became a roseate mist, through which 
old and young saw the obligations of life but 
dimly. 

A strange romance of marriage became epidemic 
in America at this time. European ethics were 
being imported, and the romance of European 
liberty swept over us. A parental despotism was 
responsible. The newspapers of the summer of 
1884 were full of elopements. They were long 
exciting chapters of domestic calamity. My 
sympathies were with the young fellow of seven 
hundred dollars income, married to a millionaire 
fool who continually informed him how much 
better her position was before she left home ; the 
honeymoon a bliss of six months, and all the 
rest of his life a profound wish that he had never 
been born ; his only redress the divorce court 



138 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 

or the almshouse. The poetry of these elopements 
was false, the prose that came after was the truth. 
Marriage is an old-fashioned business, and that 
wedding procession lasts longest that starts not 
down the ladder out of the back window, but from 
the front door with a benediction. 

But, morally and politically, we were in a riot 
of opinion against which I constantly protested. 
Politically, we were without morals. 

The opposing Presidential candidates in 1884 
were Grover Cleveland and James G. Blaine. It 
was the wonder of the world that the American 
people did not make Mr. Blaine President. There 
was a world-wide amazement also at the abuse 
which preceded Mr. Cleveland's election. The 
whole thing was a spectacle of the ignorance of 
men about great men. All sorts of defamatory 
reports were spread abroad about them. Men of 
mind are also men of temperament. There are two 
men in every one man, and for this reason Mr. 
Blaine was the most misunderstood of great men. 
To the end of his brilliant life calumny pursued 
him. There were all sorts of reports about him. 

One series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was 
almost unable to walk ; that he was too sick to be 
seen ; that death was for him close at hand, and 
his obituaries were in type in many of the printing 
offices. 

The other series of reports said that Mr. Blaine 
was vigorous ; went up the front steps of his 
house at a bound ; was doing more work than 
ever, and was rollicking with mirth. The baleful 
story was ascribed to his enemies, who wanted the 
great man out of the world. The reassuring story 
was ascribed to his friends, who wanted to keep 
him in the ranks of Presidential possibilities. 

The fact is that both reports were true. There 
were two Mr. Blaines, as there are two of every 



JAMES G. BLAINE 139 



mercurial temperament. Of the phlegmatic, 
slow-pulsed man there is only one. You see him 
once and you see him as he always is. Not so 
with the nervous organisation. He has as many 
moods as the weather, as many changes as the 
sky. He is bright or dull, serene or tempestuous, 
cold or hot, up or down, January or August, day 
or night, Arctic or tropical. At Washington, in 
1889, I saw the two Blaines within two hours. I 
called with my son to see the great Secretary of 
State at his office, and although it was his day for 
seeing foreign diplomats, he received us with great 
cordiality. His face was an illumination ; his 
voice resonant ; his manner animated ; he was 
full of gesticulation. He walked up and down the 
room describing things under discussion ; fire in 
his eye, spring in his step. Although about fifty- 
nine years of age, he looked forty-five, and strong 
enough to wrestle with two or three ordinary men. 
He had enough vitality for an athlete. 

We parted. My son and I went down the 
street, made two or three other calls, and on the 
way noticed a carriage passing with two or three 
people in it. My attention was startled by the 
appearance in that carriage of what seemed a 
case of extreme invalidism. The man seemed 
somewhat bolstered up. My sympathies were 
immediately aroused, and I said to my son, 
" Look at that sick man riding yonder." When 
the carriage came nearer to us, my son said, 
" That is Mr. Blaine." Looking closely at the 
carriage I found that this was so. He had 
in two hours swung from vigour to exhaus- 
tion, from the look of a man good for twenty 
years of successful work to a man who seemed 
to be taking his last ride. He simply looked 
as he felt on both occasions. We had seen the 
two Blaines. 



140 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



How much more just we would be in our judg- 
ment of men if we realised that a man may be 
honestly two different men, and how this theory 
would explain that which in every man of high 
organisation seems sometimes to be contradictory ! 
Aye, within five minutes some of us with mercurial 
natures can remember to have been two entirely 
different men in two entirely different worlds. 
Something said to us cheering or depressing ; 
some tidings announced, glad or sad ; some great 
kindness done for us, or some meanness practised 
on us have changed the zone, the pulsation, the 
physiognomy, the physical, the mental, the 
spiritual condition, and we become no more what 
we were than summer is winter, or midnoon is 
midnight, or frosts are flowers. 

The air was full of political clamour and strife 
in the election of 1884. Never in this country 
was there a greater temptation to political fraud, 
because, after four month's battle, the counting 
of the ballots revealed almost a tie. I urged self- 
control among men who were angry and men who 
were bitter. The enemies of Mr. Blaine were not 
necessarily the friends of Mr. Cleveland. The 
enemies of Mr. Cleveland were bitter, but they 
were afraid of Mr. Blaine ; for he was a giant 
intellectually, practically, physically, and he 
stood in the centre of a national arena of politics, 
prepared to meet all challenge. Mr. Cleveland 
never really opposed him. He faced him on party 
issues, not as an individual antagonist. The 
excitement was intense during the suspense that 
followed the counting of the ballots, and Mr. 
Cleveland went into the White House amidst a 
roar of public opinion so confused and so vicious 
that there was no certainty of ultimate order in 
the country. In after years I enjoyed his con- 
fidence and friendship, and I learned to appreciate 



A PHILANTHROPIST 141 



the stability and reserve of his nature. In a 
Milestone beyond this, I have recalled a conver- 
sation I had with him at the White House, and 
recorded my impressions of him. Above the 
clamour of these troublesome times, I raised my 
voice and said that in the distant years to come 
the electors of New York, Alabama, and Maine, 
and California, would march together down 
Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington for the 
discharge of the great duties of the Electoral College. 

The storm passed, and the Democrats were in 
power. It was the calm that follows an electrical 
disturbance. The paroxysm of filth and moral 
death was over. 

Mr. Vanderbilt, converted into a philanthropist, 
gave five hundred thousand dollars to a medi- 
cal institute, and the world began to see new 
possibilities in great fortunes. That a railroad 
king could also be a Christian king was a hopeful 
tendency of the times. These were the acts that 
tended to smother the activities of Communism 
in America. 

In the previous four years the curious astron- 
omer had discovered the evolution of a new world 
in the sky, and so while on earth there were con- 
vulsions, in the skies there were new beauties 
born. With the rising sun of the year 1885, one 
of our great and good men of Brooklyn saw it 
with failing eyesight. Doctor Noah Hunt Schenck, 
pastor of St. Ann's Episcopal Church, was 
stricken. For fifteen years he had blessed our 
city with his benediction. The beautiful cathedral 
which grew to its proportions of grandeur under 
Doctor Schenck's pastorate, stood as a monu- 
ment to him. 

A few weeks plater Schuyler Colfax, speaker 
of the House of Representatives, passed on. In the 
vortex of political feeling his integrity was attacked 



142 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



but I never believed a word of the accusations. 
Ten millions of people hoped for his election as 
President. He was my personal friend. When the 
scandal of his life was most violent, he explained 
it all away satisfactorily in my own house. 
This explanation was a confidence that I cannot 
break, but it made me ever afterwards a loyal 
friend to his memory. He was one of those 
upon whom was placed the burden of living down 
a calumny, and when he died Congress adjourned 
in his honour. Members of the legislature in his 
own country gathered about his obsequies. I 
have known many men in public life, but a more 
lovable man than Schuyler Colfax I never knew. 
The generous words he spoke of me on the last 
Sabbath of his life I shall never forget. The 
perpetual smile on his face was meanly carica- 
tured, and yet it was his benediction upon a 
world unworthy of him. 

In 1885, from far away over the sea came 
muffled thunder tones of war and rebellion. The 
deadly nightshade was indigenous to our times. 
The dynamite outrages at Westminster Hall and 
the House of Commons were explosions we in 
America heard faintly. Their importance was ex- 
aggerated. A hundred years back, the kings of 
England, of France, of Russia who died in their 
beds were rare. The violent incidents of life 
were less conspicuous as the years went on. What 
riots Philadelphia had seen during the old 
firemen's battle in the streets ! And those thea- 
trical riots in New York, when the military was 
called out, and had to fire into the mob, because 
the friends of Macready and Forrest could not 
agree as to which was the better actor ! 

An alarming number of disputes came up at 
this time over wills. The Orphan Courts were 
over- worked with these cases. I suggested a rule 



THE PROBLEM OF THE POOR 143 



for all wills : one-third at least to the wife, and 
let the children share alike. When a child receives 
more than a wife, the family is askew. A man's 
wife should be first in every ambition, in every 
provision. One-third to the wife is none too 
much. The worst family feuds proceed from 
inequality of inheritance. 

This question of rights under testamentary 
gifts of the rich was not so important, however, 
as the alarming growth in our big cities of the 
problem of the poor. The tenement house be- 
came a menace to cleanliness. Never before 
were there so many people living in unswept, 
unaired tenements. Stairs below stairs, stairs 
above stairs, where all the laws of health were 
violated. The Sanitary Protective League was 
organised to alleviate these conditions. Asiatic 
cholera was striding over Europe, and the tene- 
ment house of America was a resting place for 
it here. 

After a lecturing trip in the spring of 1885 
through Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, and 
Wisconsin, I returned to Brooklyn, delighted 
with the confidence with which the people looked 
forward to the first Cleveland administration. 
On the day that $50,000,000 was voted for 
the River and Harbour Bill, both parties sharing 
in the spoils, American politics touched bottom. 
There were symptoms of recuperation in Mr. 
Cleveland's initiative. Belligerency was aban- 
doned as a hopeless campaign. 

The graceful courtesy with which President 
Arthur bowed himself out of the White House was 
unparalleled. Never in my memory was a sceptre 
so gracefully relinquished. Nothing in his three- 
and-a-half years of office did him more credit. 
I think we never had a better President than 
Mr. Arthur. He was fortunate in having in 



144 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



his Cabinet as chief adviser Mr. Frederick T. 
Frelinghuysen. 

My office as a minister compelled me to see, first 
and foremost, the righteous uplift of the events 
as I passed along with them. These were not 
always the most conspicuous elements of public 
interest, but they comprised the things and the 
people I saw. 

I recall, for instance, chief amongst the inci- 
dents of Mr. Cleveland's administration, that the 
oath of office was administered upon his mother's 
Bible. Many people regarded this as mere senti- 
mentality. To me it meant more than words 
could express. The best of Bibles is the mother's. 
It meant that the man who chose to be sworn in 
on such a book had a grateful remembrance. 
It was as though he had said, 6 6 If it had not been 
for her, this honour would never have come to 
me." For all there is of actual solemnity in the 
usual form of taking an oath, people might just as 
well be sworn in on a city directory or an old 
almanac. But, as I said then, I say now — make 
way for an administration that starts from the 
worn and faded covers of a Bible presented by a 
mother's hand at parting. 

Mr. Blaine's visit to the White House to con- 
gratulate the victor, his cordial reception there, 
and his long stay, was another bright side of the 
election contest. There must have been a good 
deal of lying about these two men when they were 
wrestling for the honours, for if all that was said had 
been true the scene of hearty salutation between 
them would not only have been unfit, but 
impossible. 

All this optimism of outlook helped to defeat 
the animosity of the previous campaign. A 
crowning influence upon the national confusion 
of standards was the final unanimous vote in 



AN OPTIMISTIC OUTLOOK 145 



Congress in favour of putting General Grant on 
the retired list, with a suitable provision for his 
livelihood, in view of a malady that had come 
upon him. It had been a long, angry, bitter 
debate, but the generous quality of American 
sympathy prevailed. Men who fought on the 
other side and men who had opposed his Presi- 
dential policy united to alleviate his sickness, 
the pulsations of which the nation was counting. 
President Arthur's last act was to recommend 
General Grant's relief, and almost the first act 
of Mr. Cleveland's administration was to ratify 
it. Republics are not ungrateful. The American 
Republic subscribed about $400,000 for the 
relief of Mrs. Garfield ; voted pensions for 
Mrs. Polk and Mrs. Tyler ; some years ago sub- 
scribed $250,000 for General Grant, and in- 
creased it by vote of Congress in 1885. The Con- 
queror on the pale horse had already taken many 
prisoners among the surviving heroes of the war. 
It was fitting that he should make his coming 
upon the great leader of the Union Army as 
gentle as the south wind. 

There was a surplus of men fit for official posi- 
tion in America when the hour of our new 
appointments arrived. There were hundreds of 
men competent to become ministers to England, 
to France, to Germany, to Russia ; as competent 
as James Russell Lowell or Mr. Phelps. This was 
all due to the affluence of American institutions, 
that spread the benefits of education broad- 
cast. I remember when Daniel Webster died, 
people said, "We shall have no one now to expound 
the constitution," but the chief expositions of the 
constitution have been written and uttered since 
then. There were pigmies in the old days, too. I 
had a friend who, as a stenographer some years 
ago, made a fortune by knocking bad grammar out 

L 



146 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



of the speeches of Congressmen and Senators, who 
were illiterate. They said to him haughtily, 
" Stenographer, here are a couple of hundred 
dollars ; fix up that speech I made this morning, 
and see that it gets into the Congressional Record 
all right. If you can't fix it up, write another." 

In 1885, there were plenty of women, too, who 
understood politics. There were mean and silly 
women, of course, but there was a new race spring- 
ing up of grand, splendid, competent women, 
with a knowledge of affairs. The appointment of 
Mr. Cox as Minister to Turkey was a compliment 
to American literature. In consequence of a 
picturesque description he gave of some closing 
day in a foreign country, he was facetiously 
nicknamed " Sunset Cox." I rechristened him 
" Sunrise Cox." When President Tyler appointed 
Washington Irving as Minister to Spain, he set 
an example for all time. Men of letters put their 
blood into their inkstands, but the sacrifice is 
poorly recognised. 

Some of us were faintly urging world-wide 
peace, but around the night sky of 1885 was the 
glare of many camp fires. Never were there 
so many wars on the calendar at the same 
time. The Soudan war, the threat of a Russo- 
English war and of a Franco-Chinese war, the 
South- American war, the Colombian war — all 
the nations restless and arming. The scarlet 
rash of international hatred spread over the 
earth, and there were many predictions. I 
said then it was comparatively easy to fore- 
tell the issue of these wars — excepting one. I 
believed that the Revolutionist of Panama would 
be beaten ; the half-breed overcome by the 
Canadian ; that France would humble China, but 
that the Central American war would go on, 
and stop, and go on again, and stop again, until, 



A PERIOD OF WARS 147 



discovering some Washington or Hamilton or 
Jefferson of its own, it would establish a United 
States of South America corresponding with the 
United States of North America. The Soudan 
war would cease when the English Government 
abandoned the attempt to fix up in Egypt things 
unfixable. But what would be the result of the 
outbreak between England and Russia was the 
war problem of the world. The real question at 
issue was whether Europe should be dominated 
by the lion or the bear. 

In the United States we had no internal 
frictions which threatened us so much as rum and 
gambling. In Brooklyn we never ceased bom- 
barding these rebellious agents of war on the 
character of young men. Coney Island was once 
a beautiful place, but in the five years since that 
time, when it was a garden by the sea, the races 
at Brighton Beach and Sheepshead Bay had been 
established. In New York and Brooklyn pool 
rooms were open for betting on these races. In 
ten years' time I predicted that no decent man or 
woman would be able to visit Coney Island. 
The evil was stupendous, and the subject of 
Coney Island could no longer be neglected in the 
pulpit. 

Betting was a new-fashioned sort of vice in 
America in 1885 ; it was just becoming a licensed 
relaxation for young boys. As the years went on, 
it has grown to great distinction in all forms of 
American life, but it was yet only at its starting 
point in this year. Looking over an address I 
made on this subject, I find this statement : 

" What a spectacle when, at Saratoga, or at 
Long Branch, or at Brighton Beach, the horses 
stop, and in a flash $50,000 or $100,000 change 
hands — multitudes ruined by losses, others, 
ruined by winnings." Many years afterwards 



148 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



the money involved in racing was in the millions ; 
but in 1885, $100,000 was still a good bit. There 
were three kinds of betting at the horse races then 
— by auction pools, by French mutuals, and by 
what is called bookmaking — all of these methods 
controlled "for a consideration." The pool 
seller deducted three or five per cent, from the 
winning bet (incidentally " ringing up " more 
tickets than were sold on the winning horse), 
while the bookmaker, for special inducement, 
would scratch any horse in the race. The jockey 
also, for a consideration, would slacken speed to 
allow a prearranged winner to walk in, while the 
judges on the stand turned their backs. 

It was just a swindling trust. And yet, these 
race tracks on a fine afternoon were crowded 
with intelligent men of good standing in the com- 
munity, and frequently the parasols of the ladies 
gave colour and brilliancy to the scene. Our 
most beautiful watering places were all but 
destroyed by the race tracks. To stop all this 
was like turning back the ocean tides, so regular 
became the habit of gambling, of betting, of being 
legally swindled in America. No one was interested 
in the evils of life. We were on the frontier of a 
greater America, a greater waste of money, a 
greater paradise of pleasure. 

Some notice was taken of General Grant's 
malady, mysteriously pronounced incurable. The 
bulletins informed us that his life might last a 
week, a day, an hour — and still the famous old 
warrior kept getting better. One moment Grant 
was dying, the next he was dining heartily at his 
own dinner table. This was one of the mysteries 
of the period. Personally, I believe the prayers 
of the Church kept him alive. 

In April, 1885, the huge pedestal for the 
wonderful statue of Liberty, presented to us by 



OUR STATUE OF LIBERTY 149 



the citizens of France, was started. That which 
Congress had ignored, and the philanthropists of 
America had neglected, the masses were doing by 
their modest subscription — a dollar from the men, 
ten cents from the children. All Europe wrapped 
in war cloud made the magnificence and splendour 
of our enlightened liberty greater than ever. It 
was time that the gates of the sea, the front door 
of America, should be made more attractive. 
Castle Garden was a gloomy corridor through 
which to arrive. I urged that the harbour for- 
tresses should be terraced with flowers, fitting the 
approach to the forehead of this continent that 
Bartholdi was to illumine with his Coronet of Flame. 

The Bartholdi statue, as we read and heard, 
and talked about it, became an inspired impulse 
to fine art in America. In the right hand of the 
statue was to be a torch ; in the left hand, a 
scroll representing the law. What a fine con- 
ception of true liberty ! It was my hope then 
that fifty years after the statue had been placed 
on its pedestal the foreign ships passing Bedloe's 
Island, by that allegory, should ever understand 
that in this country it is liberty according to law. 
Life, as we should live it, is strong, according to 
our obedience of its statutes. 

In my boyhood this was impressed upon me 
by association and example* When in May, 1885, 
Frederick T. Frelinghuysen, ex-Secretary of State, 
died, I was forcibly reminded of this fact. I grew 
up in a neighbourhood where the name of Freling- 
huysen was a synonym for purity of character and 
integrity. There were Dominie Frelinghuysen, 
General John Frelinghuysen, Senator Theodore 
Frelinghuysen — and Frederick Frelinghuysen, the 
father of " Fred," as he was always called in his 
home state. When I was a boy, " Fred " Frey- 
linghuysen practised in the old Somerville Court- 



150 THE EIGHTH MILESTONE 



house in New Jersey, and I used to crowd in and 
listen to his eloquence, and wonder how he could 
have composure enough to face so many people. 
He was the king of the New Jersey bar. Never 
once in his whole lifetime was his name asso- 
ciated with a moral disaster of any kind. Amid 
the pomp and temptations of Washington 
he remained a consistent Christian. All the 
Frelinghuysens were alike — grandfather, grand- 
son, and uncle. On one side of the sea was the 
Prime Minister of England, Gladstone ; on the 
other side was Secretary of State Freylinghuysen ; 
two men whom I associate in mutual friendship 
and esteem. 

Towards the end of June, 1885, we were tre- 
mendously excited. All one day long the cheek 
of New York was flushed with excitement over 
the arrival of the Bartholdi statue. Bunting and 
banners canopied the harbour, fluttered up and 
down the streets, while minute guns boomed, and 
bands of music paraded. We had miraculously 
escaped the national disgrace of not having a 
place to put it on when it arrived. It was a gift that 
meant European and American fraternity. The 
$100,000 contributed by the masses for the 
pedestal on Bedloe's Island was an estimate of 
American gratitude and courtesy to France. The 
statue itself would stand for ages as the high- 
water mark of civilisation. From its top we 
expected to see the bright tinge of the dawn of 
universal peace. 



THE NINTH MILESTONE 



1885—1886 

As time kept whispering its hastening call into my 
ear I grew more and more vigorous in my out- 
look. I was given strength to hurry faster myself, 
with a certain energy to climb higher up, where 
the view was wider, bigger, clearer. As I moved 
upward I had but one fear, and that was of 
looking backward. A minister, entrusted with 
the charge of souls, cannot afford to retrace his 
steps. He must go on, and up, to the top of his 
abilities, of his spiritual purposes. 

In the midst of a glorious summer, I refused 
to see the long shadows of departing day ; in 
the midst of a snow deep winter, I declined to 
slip and slide as I went on. So it happened that 
a great many gathered about me in the tabernacle, 
because they felt that I was passing on, and they 
wanted to see how fast I could go. I aimed always 
for a higher place and the way to get up to it, 
and I took them along with me, always a little 
further, week by week. 

The pessimists came to me and said that the 
world would soon have a surplus of educated 
men, that the colleges were turning out many 
nerveless and useless youngsters, that education 
seemed to be one of the follies of 1885. The fact 
was we were getting to be far superior to what 

151 



152 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



we had been. The speeches at the commencement 
classes were much better than those we had made 
in our boyhood. We had dropped the old har- 
angues about Greece and Rome. We were talking 
about the present. The sylphs and naiads and 
dryads had already gone out of business. College 
education had been revolutionised. Students 
were not stuffed to the Adam's apple with Latin 
and Greek. The graduates were improved in 
physique. A great advance was reached when 
male and female students were placed in the 
same institutions, side by side. God put the 
two sexes together in Eden, He put them beside 
each other in the family. Why not in the 
college ? 

There were those who seemed to regard woman 
as a Divine afterthought. Judging by the fashion 
plates of olden times, in other centuries, the 
grand- daughters were far superior to the grand- 
mothers, and the fuss they used to make a 
hundred years ago over a very good woman showed 
me that the feminine excellence, so rare then, 
was more common than it used to be. At the 
beginning of the nineteenth century a woman 
was considered well educated if she could do a 
sum in rule of three. Look at the books in all 
departments that are under the arms of the school 
miss now. I believe in equal education for men 
and women to fulfil the destiny of this land. 

For all women who were then entering the 
battle of life, I saw that the time was coming when 
they would not only get as much salary as men, 
but for certain employments they would receive 
higher wages. It would not come to them through 
a spirit of gallantry, but through the woman's 
finer natural taste, greater grace of manner, and 
keener perceptions. For these virtues she would 
be worth ten per cent, more to her employer 



MR. STEAD 



153 



than a man. But she would get it by earning it, 
not by asking for it. 

In the summer of 1885 I made another trip 
to Europe. The day I reached Charing Cross 
station in London the exposures of vice in the 
Pall Mall Gazette were just issued. The paper 
had not been out half an hour. Mr. Stead, the 
editor, was later put on trial for startling Europe 
and America in his crusade against crime. There 
were the same conditions in America, in Upper 
Broadway, and other big thoroughfares in New 
York, by night, as there were in London. I 
believe the greatest safety against vice is news- 
paper chastisement of dishonour and crime. I 
urged that some paper in America should attack 
the social evil, as the Pall Mall Gazette had done. 
A hundred thousand people, with banners and 
music, gathered in Hyde Park in London, to 
express their approval of the reformation started 
by Mr. Stead, and there were a million people in 
America who would have backed up the same 
moral heroism. If my voice were loud enough 
to be heard from Penobscot to the Rio Grande, I 
would cry out " Flirtation is damnation." The 
vast majority of those who make everlasting 
shipwreck carry that kind of sail. The pirates of 
death attack that kind of craft. 

My mail bag was a mirror that reflected all 
sides of the world, and much that it showed me 
was pitifully sordid and reckless. Most of the 
letters I answered, others I destroyed. 

The following one I saved, for obvious reasons. 
It was signed, " One of the Congregation " : 

" Dear Sir, — I do not believe much that you 
preach, but I am certain that you believe it all. 
To be a Christian I must believe the Bible. 
To be truthful, I do not believe it. I go to hear 
you preach because you preach the Bible as I 



154 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



was taught it in my youth, by a father, who, like 
yourself, believed what in the capacity of a 
preacher he proclaimed. For thirty-five years 
I have been anxious to walk in the path my 
mother is treading — a simple faith. I have lived 
to see my children's children, and the distance 
that lies between me and my real estate in the 
graveyard, cannot be very great. At my age, it 
would be worse than folly to argue, simply to 
confound or dispute merely for the love of argu- 
ing. My steps are already tottering, and I am 
lost in the wilderness. I pray because I am afraid 
not to pray. What can I do that I have not 
done, so that I can see clearly ? " 

All my sympathies were excited by this letter, 
because I had been in that quagmire myself. A 
student of Doctor Witherspoon once came to 
him and said, " I believe everything is imaginary ! 
I myself am only an imaginary being." The 
Doctor said to him, 44 Go down and hit your head 
against the college door, and if you are imaginary 
and the door imaginary, it won't hurt you." 

A celebrated theological professor at Princeton 
was asked this, by a sceptic : — 

" You say, train up a child in the way he should 
go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. 
How do you account for the fact that your son 
is such a dissipated fellow ? " 

The doctor replied, 44 The promise is, that when 
he is old, he will not depart from it. My son is 
not old enough yet." He grew old, and his faith 
returned. The Rev. Doctor Hall made the state- 
ment that he discovered in the biographies of 
one hundred clergymen that they all had sons 
who were clergymen, all piously inclined. There 
is no safe way to discuss religion, save from the 
heart ; it evaporates when you dare to analyse 
its sacred element. 



THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY 155 



I received multitudes of letters written by 
anxious parents about sons who had just come to 
the city — letters without end, asking aid for 
worthy individuals and institutions, which I could 
not meet even if I had an income of $500,000 per 
annum — letters from men who told me that 
unless I sent them $25 by return mail they would 
jump into the East River — letters from people 
a thousand miles away, saying if they couldn't 
raise $1,500 to pay off a mortgage they would be 
sold out, and wouldn't I send it to them — letters 
of good advice, telling me how to preach, and the 
poorer the syntax and the etymology the 
more insistent the command. Many encourag- 
ing letters were a great help to me. Some letters 
of a spiritual beauty and power were magni- 
ficent tokens of a preacher's work. Most of 
these letters were lacking in one thing — Christian 
confidence. And yet, what noble examples there 
were of this quality in the world. 

What an example was exhibited to all, when, 
on October 8, 1885, the organ at Westminster 
Abbey uttered its deep notes of mourning, at 
the funeral of Lord Shaftesbury, in England. It 
is well to remember such noblemen as he was. 
The chair at Exeter Hall, where he so often 
presided, should be always associated with him. 
His last public act, at 84 years of age, was to go 
forth in great feebleness and make an earnest 
protest against the infamies exposed by Mr. 
Stead in London. In that dying speech he called 
upon Parliament to defend the purity of the city. 
As far back as 1840, his voice in Parliament rang 
out against the oppression of factory workers, 
and he succeeded in securing better legislation for 
them. He worked and contributed for the ragged 
schools of England, by which over 200,000 poor 
children of London were redeemed. He was 



156 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



President of Bible and Missionary Societies, and 
was for thirty years President of the Young Men's 
Christian Association. I never forgave Lord 
Macaulay for saying he hoped that the " praying 
of Exeter Hall would soon come to an end." 
On his 80th birthday, a holiday was declared in 
honour of Lord Shaftesbury, and vast multitudes 
kept it. From the Lord Mayor himself to the 
girls of the Water Cress and Flower Mission, all 
offered him their congratulations. Alfred Ten- 
nyson, the Poet Laureate, wrote him, " Allow 
me to assure you in plain prose, how cordially I 
join with those who honour the Earl of Shaftesbury 
as a friend of the poor." And, how modest was 
the Earl's reply. 

He said : 64 You have heard that which has 
been said in my honour. Let me remark with 
the deepest sincerity — ascribe it not, I beseech 
you, to cant and hypocrisy — that if these state- 
ments are partially true, it must be because 
power has been given me from above. It was not 
in me to do these things." 

How constantly through my life have I heard 
the same testimony, of the power that answers 
prayer. I believed it, and I said it repeatedly, 
that the reason American politics had become the 
most corrupt element of our nation was because 
we had ignored the power of prayer. History 
everywhere confesses its force. The Huguenots 
took possession of the Carolinas in the name of 
God. William Penn settled Pennsylvania in 
the name of God. The Pilgrim Fathers settled 
New England in the name of God. Preceding the 
first gun of Bunker Hill, at the voice of prayer, all 
heads uncovered. In the war of 1812 an officer 
came to General Andrew Jackson and said, 
" There is an unusual noise in the camp ; it ought 
to be stopped." The General asked what this 



ANDREW JOHNSON 157 



noise was. He was told it was the voice of 
prayer. 

" God forbid that prayer and praise should be 
an unusual noise in the camp," said General 
Jackson. " You had better go and join them." 

There was prayer at Valley Forge, at Monmouth, 
at Atlanta, at South Mountain, at Gettysburg. 
But the infamy of politics was broad and wide, 
and universal. Even the record of Andrew 
Johnson, our seventeenth President, was exhumed. 
He was charged with conspiracy against the 
United States Government. Because he came 
from a border State, where loyalty was more 
difficult than in the Northern States, he was 
accused of making a nefarious attack against our 
Government. I did not accept these charges. 
They were freighted with political purpose. I 
said then, in order to prove General Grant a good 
man, it was not necessary to try and prove that 
Johnson was a bad one. The President from 
Tennessee left no sons to vindicate his name. I 
never saw President Johnson but once, but I 
refused to believe these attacks upon him. They 
were an unwarranted persecution of the sacred 
memory of the dead. No man who has been emi- 
nently useful has escaped being eminently cursed. 

At our local elections in Brooklyn, in the 
autumn of 1885, three candidates for mayor were 
nominated. They were all exceptionally good men. 
Two of them were personal friends of mine, Gene- 
ral Catlin and Dr. Funk. Catlin had twice been 
brevetted for gallantry in the Civil War, and 
Dr. Funk was on the prohibition ticket, because 
he had represented prohibition all his life. Mr. 
Woodward, the third candidate, I did not know, 
but he was a strict Methodist, and that was 
recommendation enough. But there werepleasanter 
matters to think about than politics. 



158 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



In November of this year, there appeared, at 
the Horticultural Hall in New York, a wonderful 
floral stranger from China — the chrysanthemum. 
Thousands of people paid to go and see these con- 
stellations of beauty. It was a new plant to us then, 
and we went mad about it in true American fashion. 
To walk among these flowers was like crossing a 
corner of heaven. It became a mania of the times, 
almost like the tulip mania of Holland in the 
17th century. People who had voted that the 
Chinese must go, voted that the Chinese chrysan- 
themum could stay. The rose was forgotten for 
the time being, and the violets, and the carna- 
tions, and the lily of the valley. In America 
we were still the children of the world, delighted 
with everything that was new and beautiful. 

In Europe, the war dance of nations continued. 
In the twenty-two years preceding the year 1820 
Christendom had paid ten billions of dollars for 
battles. The exorbitant taxes of Great Britain 
and the United States were results of war. There 
was a great wave of Gospel effort in America 
to counteract the European war fever. It per- 
meated the legislature in Albany. One morning 
some members of the New York legislature in- 
augurated a prayer meeting in the room of the 
Court of Appeals, and that meeting, which began 
with six people, at the fifth session overflowed the 
room. Think of a Gospel Revival in the Albany 
Legislature ! Yet why not just such meetings at 
all State Capitals, in this land of the Pilgrim 
Fathers, of the Huguenots, of the Dutch refor- 
mers, of the Hungarian exiles ? 

Occasionally, we were inspired by the record 
of honest political officials. My friend Thomas 
A. Hendricks died when he was Vice-president 
of the United States Government. He was an 
honest official, and yet he was charged with 



THOMAS A. HENDRICKS 159 

being a coward, a hypocrite, a traitor. He was 
a great soul. He withstood all the temptations 
of Washington in which so many men are lost. 
I met him first on a lecturing tour in the West. 
As I stepped on to the platform, I said, " Where is 
Governor Hendricks ? " With a warmth and 
cordiality that came from the character of a man 
who loved all things that were true, he stood up, 
and instead of shaking hands, put both his arms 
around my shoulders, saying heartily, " Here I 
am." I went on with my lecture with a certain 
pleasure in the feeling that we understood each 
other. Years after, I met him in his rooms in 
Washington, at the close of the first session as 
presiding officer of the Senate, and I loved him 
more and more. Many did not realise his 
brilliancy, because he had such poise of character, 
such even methods. The trouble has been, with 
so many men of great talent in Washington, that 
they stumble in a mire of dissipation. Mr. 
Hendricks never got aboard that railroad train 
so popular with political aspirants. The Dead 
River Grand Trunk Railroad is said to have 
for its stations Tippleton, Quarrelville, Guzzler's 
Junction, Debauch Siding, Dismal Swamp, 
Black Tunnel, Murderer's Gulch, Hangman's 
Hollow, and the terminal known as Perdition. 

Mr. Hendricks met one as a man ought 
always to meet men, without any airs of super- 
iority, or without any appearance of being bored. 
A coal heaver would get from him as polite a 
bow as a chief justice. He kept his patience 
when he was being lied about. Speeches were put 
in his mouth which he never made, interviews 
were written, the language of which he never 
used. The newspapers that had lied about him, 
when he lived, turned hypocrites, and put their 
pages in mourning rules when he died. There 



160 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



were some men appointed to attend his memorial 
services in Indianopolis on November 30, 1885, 
whom I advised to stay away, and to employ their 
hours in reviewing those old campaign speeches, 
in which they had tried to make a scoundrel out 
of this man. They were not among those who 
could make a dead saint of him. Mr. Hendricks 
was a Christian, which made him invulnerable 
to violent attack. For many years he was a 
Presbyterian, afterwards he became associated 
with the Episcopal Church. His life began as 
a farmer's boy at Shelby ville, his hands on the 
plough. He was a man who hated show, a man 
whose counsel in Church affairs was often sought. 
Men go through life, usually, with so many un- 
considered ideals in its course, so many big 
moments in their lives that the world has never 
understood. 

I remember I was in one of the western cities 
when the telegram announcing the death of 
Cornelius Vanderbilt came, and the appalling 
anxiety on all sides, for two days, was something 
unique in our national history. It was an event 
that proved more than anything in my lifetime 
the financial convalescence of the nation. When 
it was found that no financial crash followed the 
departure of the wealthiest man in America, all 
sensible people agreed that our recuperating 
prosperity as a nation was built on a rock. It 
had been a fictitious state of things before this. 
It was an event, which, years before, would have 
closed one half of the banks, and suspended 
hundreds of business firms. The passing of 
$200,000,000 from one hand to another, at an 
earlier period in our history would have shaken 
the continent with panic and disaster. 

In watching where this $200,000,000 went to, 
we lost sight of the million dollars bequeathed 



CORNELIUS VANDERBILT 161 



by Mr. Vanderbilt to charity. Its destiny is 
worth recalling. $100,000 went to the Home and 
Foreign Missionary Society ; $100,000 to a 
hospital ; $100,000 to the Young Men's Christian 
Association ; $50,000 to the General Theological 
Seminary ; $50,000 for Bibles and Prayer-Books ; 
$50,000 to the Home for Incurables ; $50,000 to 
the missionary societies for seamen ; $50,000 to 
the Home for Intemperates ; $50,000 to the 
Missionary Society of New York ; $50,000 to the 
Museum of Art ; $50,000 to the Museum of 
Natural History ; and $100,000 to the Moravian 
Church. While the world at large was curious 
about the money Mr. Vanderbilt did not give 
to charity, I celebrate his memory for this one 
consecrated million. 

He was a railroad king, and they were not 
popular with the masses in 1885-6. And yet, 
the Grand Central Depot in New York and the 
Union Depot in Philadelphia, were the palaces 
where railroad enterprise admitted the public to 
the crowning luxury of the age. Men of ordinary 
means, of ordinary ability, could not have 
achieved these things. And yet it was necessary 
to keep armed men in the cemetery to protect 
Mr. Vanderbilt's remains. This sort of thing had 
happened before. Winter quarters were built 
near his tomb, for the shelter of a special con- 
stabulary. Since A. T. Stewart's death, there had 
been no certainty as to where his remains were. 
Abraham Lincoln's sepulchre was violated. Only 
a week before Mr. Vanderbilt's death, the Phelps 
family vault at Binghamton, New York, was 
broken into. Pmkerton detectives surrounded Mr. 
Vanderbilt's body on Staten Island. Wicked- 
ness was abroad in all directions, and there were 
but fifteen years of the nineteenth century left 
in which to redeem the past. 



162 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



In the summer of 1886, Doctor Pasteur's 
inoculations against hydrophobia, and Doctor 
Ferron's experiments with cholera, following 
many years after Doctor Jenner's inoculations 
against small-pox, were only segments of the 
circle which promised an ultimate cure for all 
the diseases flesh is heir to. Miracles were amongst 
us again. I had much more interest in these 
medical discoveries than I had in inventions, 
locomotive or bellicose. We required no inven- 
tions to take us faster than the limited express 
trains. We needed no brighter light than 
Edison's. A new realm was opening for the 
doctors. Simultaneously, with the gleam of 
hope for a longer life, there appeared in Brooklyn 
an impudent demand, made by a combination of 
men known as the Brewers' Association. They 
wanted more room for their beer. The mayor 
was asked to appoint a certain excise commis- 
sioner who was in favour of more beer gardens 
than we already had. They wanted to rule the 
city from their beer kegs. In my opinion, a beer 
garden is worse than a liquor saloon, because 
there were thousands of men and women who 
would enter a beer garden who would not enter 
a saloon. The beer gardens merely prepare new 
victims for the eventual sacrifice of alcoholism. 
Brooklyn was in danger of becoming a city of 
beer gardens, rather than a city of churches. 

On January 24, 1886, the seventeenth year 
of my pastorate of the Brooklyn Tabernacle was 
celebrated. It was an hour for practical proof 
to my church that the people of Brooklyn 
approved of our work. By the number of pews 
taken, and by the amount of premiums paid in, 
I told them they would decide whether we were 
to stand still, to go backward, or to go ahead. 
We were, at this time, unable to accommodate 



PROGRESS OF THE GOSPEL 165 



the audiences that attended both Sabbath ser- 
vices. The lighting, the warming, the artistic 
equipment, all the immense expenses of the 
church, required a small fortune to maintain them. 
We had more friends than the Tabernacle had 
ever had before. At no time during my seventeen 
years' residence in Brooklyn had there been so 
much religious prosperity there. The member- 
ships of all churches were advancing. It was a 
gratifying year in the progress of the Gospel in 
Brooklyn. It had been achieved by constant 
fighting, under the spur of sound yet inspired 
convictions. How close the events of secular 
prominence were to the religious spirit, some of 
the ministers in Brooklyn had managed to impress 
upon the people. It was a course that I pursued 
almost from my first pastoral call, for I firmly 
believed that no event in the world was ever 
conceived that did not in some degree symbolise 
the purpose of human salvation. 

When Mr. Parnell returned to England, I 
expected, from what I had seen and what I knew 
of him, that his indomitable force would accom- 
plish a crisis for the cause of Ireland. My opinion 
always was that England and Ireland would each 
be better without the other. Mr. ParnelPs triumph 
on his return in January, 1886, seemed complete. 
He discharged the Cabinet in England, as he had 
discharged a previous Cabinet, and he had much 
to do with the appointment of their successors. 
I did not expect that he would hold the sceptre, 
but it was clear that he was holding it then like 
a true king of Ireland. 

There was a storm came upon the giant 
cedars of American life about this time, which 
spread disaster upon our national strength. It 
was a storm that prostrated the Cedars of 
Lebanon. 



164 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



Secretary Frelinghuysen, Vice-president Hen- 
dricks, ex-Governor Seymour, General Hancock, 
and John B. Gough were the victims. It was a 
cataclysm of fatality that impressed its sadness 
on the nation. The three mightiest agencies for 
public benefit are the printing press, the pulpit, 
and the platform. The decease of John B. Gough 
left the platforms of America without any orator 
as great as he had been. For thirty-five years 
his theme was temperance, and he died when the 
fight against liquor was hottest. He had a rare 
gift as a speaker. His influence with an audience 
was unlike that of any other of his contemporaries. 
He shortened the distance between a smile and a 
tear in oratory. He was one of the first, if not 
the first, American speaker who introduced dra- 
matic skill in his speeches. He ransacked and 
taxed all the realm of wit and drama for his 
work. His was a magic from the heart. Dramatic 
power had so often been used for the degradation 
of society that speakers heretofore had assumed 
a strict reserve toward it. The theatre had claimed 
the drama, and the platform had ignored it. But 
Mr. Gough, in his great work of reform and relief, 
encouraged the disheartened, lifted the fallen, 
adopting the elements of drama in his appeals. 
He called for laughter from an audience, and it 
came ; or, if he called for tears, they came as 
gently as the dew upon a meadow's grass at dawn. 
Mr. Gough was the pioneer in platform effective- 
ness, the first orator to study the alchemy of 
human emotions, that he might stir them first, 
and mix them as he judged wisely. So many 
people spoke of the drama as though it was 
something built up outside of ourselves, as if it 
were necessary for us to attune our hearts to cor- 
respond with the human inventions of the drama- 
tists. The drama, if it be true drama, is an echo 



JOHN B. GOUGH 



165 



from something divinely implanted. While some 
conscienceless people take this dramatic element 
and prostitute it in low play-houses, John B. 
Gough raised it to the glorious uses of setting 
forth the hideousness of vice and the splendour 
of virtue in the salvation of multitudes of ine- 
briates. The dramatic poets of Europe have 
merely dramatised what was in the world's heart ; 
Mr. Gough interpreted the more sacred dramatic 
elements of the human heart. He abolished the 
old way of doing things on the platform, the 
didactic and the humdrum. He harnessed the 
dramatic element to religion. He lighted new 
fires of divine passion in our pulpits. 

The new confidence that this wonderful Cedar 
of Lebanon put into the work of contemporary 
Christian labourers in the vineyard of sacred 
meaning is our eternal inheritance of his spirit. 
He left us his confidence. 

When you destroy the confidence of man in 
man, you destroy society. The prevailing idea 
in American life was of a different character. 
National and civic affairs were full of plans to 
pull down, to make room for new builders. That 
was the trouble. There were more builders than 
there was space or need to build. A little repair- 
ing of old standards would have been better than 
tearing those we still remembered to pieces, 
merely to give others something to do. 

All this led to the betrayal of man by man — 
to bribery. It was not of much use for the pulpit 
to point it out. Men adopted bribery as a means 
to business activity. It was of no use to recall the 
brilliant moments of character in history, men 
would not read them. Their ancestry was a 
back number, the deeds of their ancestors mere 
old-fashioned narrowness of business. What if 
a member of the American Congress, Joseph 



166 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



Reed, during the American Revolution did 
refuse the 10,000 guineas offered by the foreign 
commissioners to betray the colonies ? What if 
he did say 44 Gentlemen, I am a very poor man, 
but tell your King he is not rich enough to buy 
me"? The more fool he, not to appreciate his 
opportunities, not to take advantage of the 
momentary enterprise of his betters! A bribe 
offered became a compliment, and a bribe 
negotiated was a good day's work. I had not 
much faith in the people who went about bragging 
how much they could get if they sold out. I 
refused to believe the sentiment of men who 
declared that every man had his price. 

Old-fashioned honesty was not the cure either, 
because old-fashioned honesty, according to history, 
was not wholly disinterested. There never was 
a monopoly of righteousness in the world, though 
there was a coin of fair exchange between men 
who were intelligent enough to perceive its values, 
in which there was no alloy of bribery. Bribery 
was written, however, all over the first chapters 
of English, Irish, French, German, and Ameri- 
can politics ; but it was high time that, in America, 
we had a Court House or a City Hall, or a jail, or 
a post office, or a railroad, that did not involve a 
political job. At some time in their lives, every 
man and woman may be tempted to do wrong 
for compensation. It may be a bribe of position 
that is offered instead of money ; but it was 
easy to foresee, in 1886, that there was a time 
coming when the most secret transaction of pri- 
vate and public life would come up for public 
scrutiny. Those of us who gave this warning 
were under suspicion of being harmless lunatics. 

Necessarily, the dishonest transactions of the 
bosses led to discontent among the labouring 
classes, and a railroad strike came, and went, in 



PUBLIC HONESTY 167 



the winter of 1886. Its successful adjustment 
was a credit to capital and labour, to our police 
competency, and to general municipal common- 
sense. In Chicago and St. Louis, this strike 
lasted several days ; in Brooklyn, it was settled 
in a few hours. The deliverance left us facing the 
problem whether the differences between capital 
and labour in America would ever be settled. I was 
convinced that it could never be accomplished 
by the law of supply and demand, although we 
were constantly told so. It was a law that had 
done nothing to settle the feuds of past ages. The 
fact was that supply and demand had gone into 
partnership, proposing to swindle the earth. It 
is a diabolic law which will have to stand aside 
for a greater law of love, of co-operation, and of 
kindness. The establishment of a labour ex- 
change, in Brooklyn in 1886, where labourers 
and capitalists could meet and prepare their 
plans, was a step in that direction. 

I said to a very wealthy man, who employed 
thousands of men in his establishments in 
different cities : 

44 Have you had many strikes ? " 

44 Never had a strike; I never will have one," 
he said. 

" How do you avoid them ?" I asked. 

" When prices go up or down, I call my men 
together in all my establishments. In case of 
increased prosperity I range them around me 
in the warehouses at the noon hour, and I say, 
4 Boys, I am making money, more than usual, 
and I feel that you ought to share my success; 
I shall add five, or ten, or twenty per cent, to 
your wages.' Times change. I must sell my 
goods at a low price, or not sell them at all. Then 
I say to them, 4 Boys, I am losing money, and 
I must either stop altogether or run on half-time, 



168 THE NINTH MILESTONE 



or do with less hands. I thought I would call 
you together and ask your advice.' There may 
be a halt for a minute or two, and then one of the 
men will step up and say, ' Boss, you have 
been good to us ; we have got to sympathise 
with you. I don't know how the others feel, but 
I propose we take off 20 per cent, from our wages, 
and when times get better, you can raise us,' 
and the rest agree." 

That was the law of kindness. 

Many of the best friends I had were American 
capitalists, and I said to them always, " You 
share with your employees in your prosperity, 
and they will share with you in your adversity." 

The rich man of America was not in need of 
conversion, for, in 1886, he had not become a 
monopolist as yet. He had accumulated fortunes 
by industry and hard work, and he was an ener- 
getic builder of national enterprise and civic 
pride, but his coffers were being drained by an 
increasing social extravagance that was beyond 
the requirements of happiness of home. 



THE TENTH MILESTONE 



1886 

Society life in the big cities of America in 1886 
had become a strange nightmare of extravagance 
and late hours. It was developing a queer race 
of people. Temporarily, the Lenten season stopped 
the rustle and flash of toilettes, chained the 
dancers, and put away the tempting chalice of 
social excitement. When Lent came in the society 
of the big cities of America was an exhausted 
multitude. It seemed to me as though two or 
three winters of germans and cotillions would be 
enough to ruin the best of health. The victims 
of these strange exhaustions were countless. No 
man or woman could endure the wear and tear 
of social life in America without sickness and 
depletion of health. The demands were at war 
with the natural laws of the human race. 

Even the hour set for the average assembling 
of a " society event " in 1886 was an outrage. 
Once it was eight o'clock at night, soon it was 
adjourned to nine-thirty, and then to ten, and 
there were threats that it would soon be eleven. 
A gentleman wrote me this way for advice about 
his social burden : 

" What shall I do ? We have many friends, 
and I am invited out perpetually. I am on a 
salary in a large business house in New York. I 

169 



170 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



am obliged to arise in the morning at seven o'clock, 
but I cannot get home from those parties till 
one in the morning. The late supper and the 
excitement leave me sleepless. I must either give 
up society or give up business, which is my living. 
My wife is not willing that I should give up 
society, because she is very popular. My health 
is breaking down. What shall I do ? " 

It was not the idle class that wasted their 
nights at these parties; it was the business men 
dragged into the fashions and foibles of the idle, 
which made that strange and unique thing we 
call society in America. 

I should have replied to that man that his wife 
was a fool. If she were willing to sacrifice his 
health, and with it her support, for the greeting 
and applause of these midnight functions, I 
pitied him. Let him lose his health, his business, 
and his home, and no one would want to invite 
him anywhere. All the diamond-backed terra- 
pins at fifty dollars a dozen which he might be 
invited to enjoy after that would do him no 
harm. Society would drop him so suddenly that 
it would knock the breath out of him. The recipe 
for a man in this predicament, a man tired of life, 
and who desired to get out of it without the 
reputation of a suicide, was very simple. He only 
had to take chicken salad regularly at midnight, 
in large quantities, and to wash it down with 
bumpers of wine, reaching his pillow about 2 a.m. 
If the third winter of this did not bring his 
obituary, it would be because that man was 
proof against that which had slain a host larger 
than any other that fell on any battle-field of the 
ages. The Scandinavian warriors believed that 
in the next world they would sit in the Hall of 
Odin, and drink wine from the skulls of their 
enemies. But society, by its requirements of 



SOCIETY 



171 



late hours and conviviality, demanded that a man 
should drink out of his own skull, having rendered 
it brainless first. I had great admiration for the 
suavities and graces of life, but it is beyond any 
human capacity to endure what society imposes 
upon many in America. Drinking other people's 
health to the disadvantage of one's own health is 
a poor courtesy at best. Our entertainments 
grew more and more extravagant, more and more 
demoralising. I wondered if our society was not 
swinging around to become akin to the worst 
days of Roman society. The princely banquet- 
rooms of the Romans had revolving ceilings 
representing the firmament ; fictitious clouds 
rained perfumed essences upon the guests, 
who were seated on gold benches, at tables made 
of ivory and tortoise-shell. Each course of food, 
as it was brought into the banquet room, was 
preceded by flutes and trumpets. There was no 
wise man or woman to stand up from the elaborate 
banquet tables of American society at this time 
and cry " Halt ! " It might have been done in 
Washington, or in New York, or in Brooklyn, 
but it was not. 

The way American society was moving in 1886 
was the way to death. The great majority, the 
major key in the weird symphony of American 
life, was not of society. 

We had no masses really, although we bor- 
rowed the term from Europe and used it busily 
to describe our working people, who were massive 
enough as a body of men, but they were not the 
masses. Neither were they the mob, which was 
a term some were fond of using in describing the 
destruction of property on railroads in the spring 
of 1886. The labouring men had nothing to do 
with these injuries. They were done by the 
desperadoes who lurked in all big cities. I made 



172 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



a Western trip during this strike, and I found the 
labouring men quiet, peaceful, but idle. The 
depots were filled with them, the streets were 
filled with them, but they were in suspense, and it 
lasted twenty-five days. Then followed the dark- 
ness and squalor — less bread, less comfort, less 
civilisation of heart and mind. It was hard on 
the women and children. Senator Manderson, 
the son of my old friend in Philadelphia, intro- 
duced a bill into the United States Senate 
for the arbitration of strikes. It proposed a 
national board of mediation between capital 
and labour. 

Jay Gould was the most abused of men just 
then. He was denounced by both contestants 
in this American conflict most uselessly. The 
knights of Labour came in for an equal amount of 
abuse. We were excited and could not reason. 
The men had just as much right to band together 
for mutual benefit as Jay Gould had a right to get 
rich. It was believed by many that Mr. Gould 
made his fortune out of the labouring classes. 
Mr. Gould made it out of the capitalists. His 
regular diet was a capitalist per diem, not a poor 
man — capitalist stewed, broiled, roasted, panned, 
fricaseed, devilled, on the half shell. He was 
personally, as I knew him, a man of such kindness 
that he would not hurt a fly, but he played ten 
pins on Wall Street. A great many adventurers 
went there to play with him, and if their ball 
rolled down the side of the financial alley while he 
made a ten strike or two or three spares, the fellows 
who were beaten howled. That was about all 
there really was in the denunciation of Jay Gould. 

I couldn't help thinking sometimes, when the 
United States seemed to change its smile of pros- 
perity to a sudden smile of anger or petulance, 
that we were a spoiled nation, too much pampered 



THE CHINESE IN AMERICA 173 



by divine blessings. If we had not been our own 
rulers, but had been ruled — what would America 
have been then ? We were like Ireland crying for 
liberty and abusing liberty the more we got of it. 

Mr. Gladstone's policy of Home Rule for 
Ireland, announced in April, 1886, proposed an 
Irish Parliament and the Viceroy. It should 
remain, however, a part of England. I fully 
believed then that Ireland would have Home 
Rule some day, and in another century I be- 
lieved that Ireland would stand to England as 
the United States stands to England, a friendly 
and neighbouring power. I believed that Ireland 
would some day write her own Declaration of 
Independence. Liberty, the fundamental instinct 
of the most primitive living thing, would be the 
world's everlasting conflict. 

Our exclusion of the Chinese, which came up 
in the spring of 1886, when an Ambassador from 
China was roughly handled in San Francisco, was 
a disgrace to our own instincts of liberty. A 
great many people did not want them because 
they did not like the way they dressed. They 
objected to the Chinaman's queue. George Wash- 
ington wore one, so did Benjamin Franklin and 
John Hancock. The Chinese dress was not worse 
than some American clothes I have seen. Some 
may remember the crinoline monstrosities of '65, 
as I do — the coal-scuttle bonnets, the silver knee- 
buckles ! The headgear of the fair sex has never 
ceased to be a mystery and a shock during all my 
lifetime. I remember being asked by a lady- 
reporter in Brooklyn if I thought ladies should 
remove their hats in the theatre, and I told her to 
tell them to keep them on, because in obstructing 
the stage they were accomplishing something worth 
while. Any fine afternoon the spring fashions of 
1886, displayed in Madison Square between two 



174 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



and four o'clock, were absurdities of costume that 
eclipsed anything then worn by the Chinese. 

The Joss House of the Chinese was entitled to 
as much respect in the United States, under the 
constitution, as the Roman Catholic church, or 
the Quaker Meeting house, or any other religious 
temple. A new path was made for the Chinese 
into America via Mexico, when 600,000 were to be 
imported for work on Mexican territory. In the 
discussion it aroused it was urged that Mexico 
ought to be blocked because the Chinese would 
not spend their money in America. In one year, 
in San Francisco, the Chinese paid $2,400,000 in 
rent for residences and warehouses. Our higher 
civilisation was already threatened with that style 
of man who spends three times more money than 
he makes, and yet we did not want the thrifty 
unassuming religious Chinaman to counteract our 
mania for extravagance. This entire agitation 
emanated from corrupt politics. The Republican 
and Democratic parties both wanted the electoral 
votes of California in the forthcoming Presiden- 
tial election, and, in order to get that vote, it was 
necessary to oppose the Chinese. Whenever 
these Asiatic men obtain equal suffrage in America 
the Republican party will fondle them, and the 
Democrats will try to prove that they always had 
a deep affection for them, and some of the political 
bosses will go around with an opium pipe sticking 
out of their pockets and their hair coiled into a 
suggestion of a queue. 

The ship of state was in an awful mess. No 
sooner was the good man in power than politics 
struggled to pull him down to make room for the 
knaves. When Thomas Jefferson was inaugu- 
rated, the Sentinel of Boston wrote the obituary 
of the American nation. I quote it as a literary 
scrap of the past : 



CARTOONS 



175 



" Monumental Inscription — expired yester- 
day, regretted by all good men, The Federal 
Administration of the Government of the 
United States, aged 12 years. This Monu- 
mental Inscription to the virtues and the services 
of the deceased is raised by the Sentinel of 
Boston." 

It might have been a recent editorial. Van 
Buren was always cartooned as a fox or a rat. 
Horace Greeley told me once that he had not had a 
sound sleep for fifteen years, and he was finally put 
to death by American politics. The cartoons of 
Mr. Blaine and Mr. Cleveland during their 
election battle, as compared to those of fifty years 
before, were seraphic as the themes of Raphael. 
It was not necessary to go so far back for prece- 
dent. The game had not changed. The building 
of our new Raymond Street jail in Brooklyn, in 
1886, was a game which the politicians played, 
called 44 money, money, who has got the money ? ' 
Suddenly there was an arraignment in the courts. 
Mr. Jaehne was incarcerated in Sing Sing for 
bribery. Twenty-five New York aldermen were 
accused. Nineteen of them were saloon keepers. 
There was a fearful indifference to the illiteracy of 
our leaders in 1886. It threatened the national 
intelligence of the future. 

In the rhapsody of May, however, in the 
resurrection of the superlative beauties of spring, 
we forgot our human deficiencies. In the first 
week of lilacs, the Americanised flower of Persia, 
we aspired to the breadth and height and the 
heaven of our gardens. The generous lilac, like 
a great purple sea of loveliness, swept over us in 
the full tide of spring. It was the forerunner of 
j°y 5 j°y of fish in the brooks, of insects in the air, 
of cattle in the fields, of wings to the sky. Sun- 
shine, shaken from the sacred robes of God! 



176 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



Spring, the spiritual essence of heaven and 
physical beauty come to earth in many forms — 
in the rose, in the hawthorn white and scarlet, 
in the passion flower. In this season of transition 
we hear the murmurings of heaven. There were 
spring poets in 1886, as there had been in all ages. 

Love and marriage came over the country like 
a divine opiate, inspired, I believe, by that love 
story in the White House, which culminated on 
June 2, 1886, in the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. 
Cleveland. Never in my knowledge were there so 
many weddings all over the United States as 
during the week when this official wedding took 
place in the White House. The representatives 
of the foreign Governments in Washington were 
not invited to Mr. Cleveland's wedding. We all 
hoped that they would not make such fools of 
themselves as to protest — but they did. They 
were displeased at the President's omission to 
invite them. It was always a wish of Mr. 
Cleveland's to separate the happiness of his 
private life from that of his public career, so as to 
protect Mrs. Cleveland from the glare to which 
he himself was exposed. His wedding was an 
intimate, private matter to him, and if there is 
any time in a man's life when he ought to do as he 
pleases it is when he gets married. It was a 
remarkable wedding in some respects, remarkable 
for its love story, for its distinguished character, 
its American privacy, its independent spirit. The 
whole country was rapturously happy over it. 
The foreign ministers who growled might have 
benefited by the example of Americanism in the 
affair. Even the reporters, none of whom 
were invited, were happy over it, and gave a more 
vivid account of the joyous scene than they could 
have given had they been present. 

The difference in the ages of the President and 



A WEDDING IN THE WHITE HOUSE 177 



his beautiful bride was widely discussed. Into 
the garland of bridal roses let no one ever twist a 
sprig of night-shade. If 49 would marry 22, 
if summer is fascinated with spring, whose busi- 
ness is it but their own ? Both May and August 
are old enough to take care of themselves, and 
their marriage is the most noteworthy moment of 
their too short season of life. Some day her 
voice is silenced, and the end of the world has 
come for him — the morning dead, the night dead, 
the air dead, the world dead. For his sake, for 
her sake, do not spoil their radiance with an 
impious regret. They will endure the thorns of 
life when they are stronger in each other's love. 

That June wedding at the White House was the 
nucleus of happiness, from which grew a great 
wave of matrimony. The speed of God's will was 
increasing in America. Most of the things man- 
aged by divine instinct are characterised by 
speed — rapid currents, swift lightnings, swift 
coming and going of lives. In the old-fashioned 
days a man got a notion that there was sanctity 
in tardiness. It was a great mistake. In America 
we had arrived at that state of mind when we 
wanted everything fast — first and fast. Fast 
horses, fast boats, fast runners are all good things 
for the human race. 

The great yacht races of September 7, 1886, 
in which the " May Flower " distanced the 
" Galatea " by two miles and a half, was a 
spanking race. Our sporting blood was roused to 
fighting pitch, and we became more active in every 
way of outdoor sports. Lawn tennis tournaments 
were epidemic all over the country. There were 
good and bad effects from all of them. Those 
romping sports developed a much finer physical 
condition in our American women. Lawn tennis 
and croquet were hardening and beautifying ^the 



178 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



race. From the English and German women we 
adopted athletics for our own women. Our girls 
began to travel more frequently in Europe. It 
looked as though many of the young ladies who 
prided themselves upon their bewitching languors 
and fashionable dreaminess, would be neglected 
by young men in favour of the more athletic types. 
It had been decided, in the social channels of our 
life, that doll babies were not of much use in the 
struggle, that women must have the capacity 
and the strength to sweep out a room without 
fainting ; that to make an eatable loaf of bread 
was more important than the satin cheek or the 
colour of hair that one strong fever could uproot. 
I was accused of being ambitious that Americans 
should have a race of Amazons. I was not. I 
did want them to have bodies to fit their great 
souls. What I did wish to avoid, in this natural 
transition, was a misdirected use of its advantages. 
There is dissipation in outdoor life, as well as 
indoors, and this was to be deplored. I wanted 
everything American to come out ahead. 

In science we were still far behind. The 
Charleston earthquake in September, 1886, proved 
this. Our philosophers were disgusted that the 
ministers and churches down there devoted their 
time to praying and moralising about the earth- 
quake, when only natural phenomena were the 
cause. Science had no information or comfort 
to give, however. The only thing the scientist 
did was to predict a great tidal wave which would 
come and destroy all that was left of the previous 
calamity. Science lied again. The tidal wave 
did not come ; the September rains stopped, and 
Charleston began to rebuild. That is one of the 
wonderful things about America ; we are not 
only able to restore our damages, but we have a 
mania for rebuilding. Our chief fault lies in the 



POLITICAL SINCERITY 179 



fact that we rebuild for profit rather than for 
beauty of character or moral strength. 

There had been a time during my pastorate 
when Brooklyn promised to be the greatest water- 
ing place in America. We were in a fair way of 
becoming the summer capital of the United States. 
It was destroyed by the loafers and the dissolute- 
ness of Coney Island. In the autumn of 1886, 
Brooklyn was more indignant than I had ever 
seen it before, and I knew it intimately for a 
quarter of a century. Our trade was damaged, 
our residences were depreciated, because the 
gamblers and liquor dealers were in power. Part 
of the summer people were too busy looking for 
a sea serpent reported to be in the East River 
or up the Hudson to observe that a Dragon of 
Evil was twining about the neck and waist and 
body of the two great cities by the sea. 

In contrast to all this political treachery in 
the North there developed a peculiar symbol of 
political sincerity in Tennesee. Two brothers, 
Robert and Alfred Taylor, were running for 
Governor of that State — one on the Republican 
and the other on the Democratic ticket. At 
night they occupied the same room together. 
On the same platform they uttered sentiments 
directly opposite in meaning. And yet, Robert 
said to a crowd about to hoot his brother Alfred, 
" When you insult my brother you insult me." 
This was a symbol of political decency that we 
needed. One of the great wants of the world, 
however, was a better example in " high life." 
We were shocked by the moral downfall of Sir 
Charles Dilke in England, by the dissolute con- 
duct of an American official in Mexico, by the 
dissipations of a Senator who attempted to 
address the United States Senate in a state of 
intoxication. 



180 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



Mr. Cleveland's frequent exercise of the Pre- 
sident's right of veto was a hopeful policy in 
national affairs. The habit of voting away 
thousands of dollars of other people's money in 
Congress needed a check. The popular means of 
accomplishing this out of the national treasury 
was in bills introduced by Congressmen for public 
buildings. Each Congressman wanted to favour 
the other. The President's veto was the only 
cure. This prodigality of the National Legisla- 
ture grew out of an enormous surplus in the 
Treasury. It was too great a temptation to the 
law-makers. $70,000,000 in a pile added to a 
reserve of $100,000,000 was an infamous lure. 
I urged that this money should be turned back to 
the people to whom it belonged. The Government 
had no more right to it than I had to five dollars 
of overpay, and yet, by over-taxation, the Govern- 
ment had done the same sort of thing. This 
money did not belong to the Government, but to 
the people from whom they had taken it. From 
private sources in Washington I learned that 
officials were overwhelmed with demands for 
pensions from first-class loafers who had never 
been of any service to their country before or 
since the war. They were too lazy or cranky to 
work for themselves. Grover Cleveland vetoed 
them by the hundred. We needed the veto 
power in America as much as the Roman Govern- 
ment had required it in their tribunes. Poland 
had recognised it. The Kings of Norway, Sweden, 
and the Netherlands had used it. With the 
exception of two states in the Union, all the 
American Governors had the privilege. Because a 
railroad company buys up a majority of the legis- 
lature there is no reason why a Governor should 
sign the charter. There was no reason why 
the President should make appointments upon 



THE WAR RAGE OF EUROPE 181 



indiscriminate claims because the ante-room of the 
White House was filled with applicants, as they 
were in Cleveland's first administration. My 
sympathies were with the grand army men 
against these pretenders. 

What a waste of money it seemed to me there 
was in keeping up useless American embassies 
abroad. They had been established when it took 
six weeks to go to Liverpool and six months to 
China, so that it was necessary to have represen- 
tation at the foreign courts. As far back as 1866 
it was only half an hour from Washington to 
London, to Berlin, to Madrid. I have seen no 
crisis in any of these foreign cities which made our 
ambassadors a necessity there. International 
business could be managed by the State Depart- 
ment. The foreign embassy was merely a good 
excuse to get rid of some competent rival for the 
Presidency. The cable was enough Minister 
Plenipotentiary for the United States, and 
always should be. I regarded it as humiliating to 
the constitution of the United States that we 
should be complimenting foreign despotism in this 
way. 

The war rage of Europe was destined to make a 
market for our bread stuff in 1886, but at the cost 
of further suffering and disaster. I have no 
sentimentality about the conflicts of life, because 
the Bible is a history of battles and hand to hand 
struggles, but war is no longer needed in the 
world. War is a system of political greed where 
men are hired at starvation wages to kill each 
other. Could there be anything more savage ? 
It is the inoffensive who are killed, while the 
principals in the quarrel sit snugly at home on 
throne chairs. 

A private letter, I think it was, written during 
the Crimean war by a sailor to his wife, describing 



182 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



his sensations after having killed a man for the 
first time, is a unique demonstration of the 
psychology of the soldier's fate. 
The letter said : — 

"We were ordered to fire, and I took steady aim 
and fired on my man at a distance of sixty yards. 
He dropped like a stone, at the same instant 
a broadside from the ship scattered among the 
trees, and the enemy vanished, we could scarcely 
tell how. I felt as though I must go up to the 
man I had fired upon to see if he were dead or 
alive. I found him quite still, and I was more 
afraid of him when I saw him lying so than when 
he stood facing me a few minutes before. It is 
a strange feeling that comes over you all at once 
when you have killed a man. He had unfastened 
his jacket, and was pressing his hand against his 
chest where the wound was. He breathed hard, 
and the blood poured from the wound and his 
mouth at every breath. His face was white as 
death, and his eyes looked big and bright as he 
turned them staring up at me. I shall never 
forget it. He was a fine young fellow, not over 
five and twenty. I knelt beside him and I felt 
as though my heart would burst. He had an 
English face and did not look like my enemy. If 
my life could have saved his I would have given 
it. I held his head on my knee and he tried to 
speak, but his voice was gone. I could not under- 
stand a word that he said. I am not ashamed to 
say that I was worse than he, for he never shed 
a tear and I did. I was wondering how I could 
bear to leave him to die alone, when he had some 
sort of convulsions, then his head rolled over and 
with a sigh he was gone. I laid his head gently 
on the grass and left him. It seemed so strange 
when I looked at him for the last time. I some- 
how thought of everything I had ever read about 



PSYCHOLOGY OF A SOLDIER'S FATE 183 



the Turks and the Russians, and the rest of 
them, but all that seemed so far off, and the 
dead man so near." 

This was the secret tragedy of the common 
fraternity of manhood driven by custom into a 
sham battle of death. The European war of 
1886 was a conflict of Slav and Teuton. France 
will never forgive Germany for taking Alsace and 
Lorraine. It was a surrender to Germany of 
what in the United States would be equal to the 
surrender of Philadelphia and Boston, with vast 
harvest fields in addition. France wanted to 
blot out Sedan. England desired to keep out 
of the fight upon a naval report that she was un- 
prepared for war. The Danes were ready for 
insurrection against their own Government. Only 
3,000 miles of Atlantic Ocean and great wisdom 
of Washington kept us out of the fight. The 
world's statesmanship at this time was the greatest 
it had ever known. There was enough of it in 
St. Petersburg, Berlin, Rome, Paris, and London 
to have achieved a great progress for peace by 
arbitration and treaty, but there was no precedent 
by which to judge the effect of such a plan. The 
nations had never before had such vast popula- 
tions to change into armies. The temptations of 
war were irresistible. 

In America, remotely luxurious in our own pros- 
perity from the rest of the world, we became self- 
absorbed. The fashions, designed and inspired in 
Europe, became the chief element of attraction 
among the ladies. It was particularly noticeable 
in the autumn of 1886 for the brilliancy and 
grandeur of bird feathers. The taxidermist's 
art was adapted to women's gowns and hats to a 
degree that amazed the country. A precious 
group of French actresses, some of them divorced 
two or three times, with a system of morals 



184 THE TENTH MILESTONE 



entirely independent of the ten commandments, 
were responsible for this outbreak of bird millinery 
in America. From one village alone 70,000 birds 
were sent to New York for feminine adornment. 

The whole sky full of birds was swept into the 
millinery shops. A three months foraging trip 
in South Carolina furnished 11,000 birds for the 
market of feathers. One sportsman supplied 
10,000 aigrettes. The music of the heavens was 
being destroyed. Paris was supplied by con- 
tracts made in New York. In one month a 
million bobolinks were killed near Philadelphia. 
Species of birds became extinct. In February of 
this year I saw in one establishment 2,000,000 
bird skins. One auction room alone, in three 
months, sold 3,000,000 East India bird skins, and 
1,000,000 West India and Brazilian feathers. 

A newspaper description of a lady's hat in 1886 
was to me savage in the extreme. I quote one of 
many : 

"She had a whole nest of sparkling, scintillating 
birds in her hat, which would have puzzled an 
ornithologist to classify." 

Here is another one I quote : 

" Her gown of unrelieved black was looped up 
with blackbirds and a winged creature so dusky 
that it could have been intended for nothing but 
a crow reposed among the strands of her hair." 

Public sentiment in American womanhood 
eventually rescued the songsters of the world — 
in part, at any rate. The heavenly orchestra, 
with its exquisite prelude of dawn and its tremu- 
lous evensong, was spared. 

Many years ago Thomas Carlyle described us 
as 64 forty million Americans, mostly fools." 
He declared we would flounder on the ballot-box, 
and that the right of suffrage would be the ruin of 
this Government. The 44 forty million of fools " 



AMERICAN EVOLUTION 185 



had done tolerably well for the small amount of 
brain Carlyle permitted them. 

Better and better did America become to me as 
the years went by. I never wanted to live any- 
where else. Many believed that Christ was about 
to return to His reign on earth, and I felt confident 
that if such a divine descent could be, it would 
come from American skies. I did not believe 
that Christ would descend from European skies, 
amidst alien thrones. I foresaw the time when 
the Democracy of Americans would be lifted so 
that the President's chair could be set aside as a 
relic ; when penitentiaries would be broken-down 
ruins ; almshouses forsaken, because all would 
be rich, and hospitals abandoned, because all 
would be well. 

If Christ were really coming, as many believed, 
the moment of earthly paradise was at hand. 



THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



1886—1887 

The balance of power in Brooklyn and New York 
during my lifetime had always been with the pul- 
pit. I was in my fifty-fourth year, and had shared 
honours with the most devout and fearless 
ministers of the Gospel so long that when two 
monster receptions were proposed, in celebration 
of the services of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and 
Rev. R. S. Storrs, D.D., I became almost wickedly 
proud of the privileges of my associations. These 
two eminent men were in the seventies. Dr. 
Storrs had been installed pastor of the Church of 
Pilgrims in 1846 ; Mr. Beecher pastor of Plymouth 
Church in 1847. They were both stalwart in 
body then, both New Englanders, both Congre- 
gationalists, mighty men, genial as a morning 
in June. Both world-renowned, but different. 
Different in stature, in temperament, in theology. 
They had reached the fortieth year of pastoral 
service . No movement for the welfare of Brooklyn 
in all these years was without the benediction of 
their names. 

The pulpit had accomplished wonders. In Brook- 
lyn alone look at the pulpit-builders. There were 
Rev. George W. Bethune of the Dutch Reformed 
Church, Rev. Dr. Samuel H. Cox, Rev. W. 
Ichabod Spencer, Rev. Dr. Samuel Thayer Speer 

M 



PULPIT BUILDERS 187 



of the Presbyterian Church, Dr. John Summerfield 
and Dr. Kennedy of the Methodist Church, Rev. 
Dr. Stone and Rev. Dr. Vinton of the Episcopal 
Church — all denominations pouring their elements 
of divine splendour upon the community. Who 
can estimate the power which emanated from 
the pulpits of Dr. McElroy, or Dr. DeWitt, 
or Dr. Spring, or Dr. Krebs? Their work will 
go on in New York though their churches be 
demolished. Large-hearted men were these pulpit 
apostles, apart from the clerical obligations of 
their denominations. No proverb in the world 
is so abused as the one which declares that the 
children of ministers never turn out well. They 
hold the highest places in the nation. Grover 
Cleveland was the son of a Presbyterian clergy- 
man, Governor Pattison of Pennsylvania, Gover- 
nor Taylor of Tennessee, were sons of Metho- 
dist preachers. In congressional and legislative 
halls they are scattered everywhere. 

Of all the metaphysical discourses that Mr. 
Beech er delivered, none are so well remembered 
as those giving his illustrations of life, his anec- 
dotes. Much of his pulpit utterance was devoted 
to telling what things were like. So the Sermon on 
the Mount was written, full of similitudes. Like 
a man who built his house on a rock, like a candle 
in a candle-stick, like a hen gathering her chickens 
under her wing, like a net, like salt, like a 
city on a hill. And you hear the song birds, 
and you smell the flowers. Mr. Beecher's 
grandest effects were wrought by his illustrations, 
and he ransacked the universe for them. We 
need in our pulpits just such irresistible illustra- 
tions, just such holy vivacity. His was a victory 
of similitudes. 

Towards the end of November, 1886, one of the 
most distinguished sons of a Baptist preacher, 



188 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



Chester A. Arthur, died. He had arisen to the 
highest point of national honour, and preserved 
the simplicities of true character. When I was 
lecturing in Lexington, Kentucky, one summer, 
I remember with what cordiality he accosted me 
in a crowd. 

" Are you here ? " he said; " why, it makes 
me feel very much at home." 

Mr. Arthur aged fifteen years in the brief span of 
his administration. He was very tired. Almost 
his last words were, " Life is not worth living." 
Our public men need sympathy, not criticism. 
Macaulay, after all his brilliant career in Parlia- 
ment, after being world-renowned among all who 
could admire fine writing, wrote this : 

" Every friendship which a man may have 
becomes precarious as soon as he engages in 
politics." 

Political life is a graveyard of broken hearts. 
Daniel Webster died of a broken heart at Marsh- 
field. Under the highest monument in Kentucky 
lies Henry Clay, dead of a broken heart. So died 
Henry Wilson, at Natick, Mass.; William H. 
Seward at Auburn, N.Y. ; Salmon P. Chase, in 
Cincinnati. So died Chester A. Arthur, honoured, 
but worried. 

The election of Abram S. Hewitt as mayor of New 
York in 1886 restored the confidence of the best 
people. Behind him was a record absolutely 
beyond criticism, before him a great Christian 
opportunity. We made the mistake, however, 
of ignoring the great influence upon our civic 
prosperity of the business impulse of the West. 
We in New York and Brooklyn were a self- 
satisfied community, unmindful of our depend- 
ence upon the rest of the American continent. 
My Western trips were my recreation. An 
occasional lecture tour accomplished for me what 



LECTURING A RECREATION 189 



yachting or baseball does for others. My con- 
gregation understood this, and never complained 
of my absence. They realised that all things for 
me turned into sermons. No man sufficiently 
appreciates his home unless sometimes he goes 
away from it. It made me realise what a number 
of splendid men and women there were in the 
world Man as a whole is a great success ; woman, 
taking her all in all, is a great achievement, and 
the reason children die is because they are too 
lovely to stay out of paradise. 

Three weeks in the West brought me back to 
Brooklyn supremely optimistic. There was more 
business in the markets than men could attend to. 
Times had changed. In Cincinnati once I was 
perplexed by the difference in clock time. They 
have city time and railroad time there. I asked 
a gentleman about it. 

" Tell me, how many kinds of time have you 
here ? " I asked. " Three kinds," he replied, 
" city time, railroad time, and hard time." 

There was no " hard time " at the close of 1886. 
The small rate of interest we had been compelled 
to take for money had been a good thing. It had 
enlivened investments in building factories and 
starting great enterprises. The 2 per cent, per 
month interest was dead. The fact that a few 
small fish dared to swim through Wall Street, only 
to be gobbled up, did not stop the rising tide of 
national welfare. We were going ahead, gaining, 
profiting even by the lives of those who were 
leaving us behind. 

The loss of the Rev. J. Hyatt Smith restored 
the symbol and triumph of self-sacrifice. In the 
most exact sense of the word he was a genius. 
He wasted no time in his study that he could 
devote to others, he was always busy raising 
money to pay house rent for some poor woman, 



190 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



exhausting his energies in trying to keep people 
out of trouble, answering the call of every school, 
of every reformatory, every philanthropic institu- 
tion. Had he given more time to study, he 
would hardly have had an equal in the American 
pulpit. He depended always upon the inspiration 
of the moment. Sometimes he failed on this 
account. I have heard him when he had the 
pathos of a Summerfield, the wit of a Sidney 
Smith, and the wondrous thundering phraseology 
of a Thomas Carlyle. He had been everywhere, 
seen everything, experienced great variety of 
gladness, grief, and betrayal. If you had lost a 
child, he was the first man at your side to console 
you. If you had a great joy, his was the first 
telegram to congratulate you. For two years he 
was in Congress. His Sundays in Washington 
were spent preaching in pulpits of all denomi- 
nations. The first time I ever saw him was when 
he came to my house in Philadelphia, ringing the 
door bell, that he might assuage a great sorrow 
that had come to me. He was always in the 
shadowed home. How much the world owes to 
such a nature is beyond the world's gift to return. 
His wit was of the kind that, like the dew, 
refreshes. He never laughed at anything but 
that which ought to be laughed at. He never 
dealt in innuendoes that tipped both ways. We 
were old friends of many vicissitudes. Together 
we wept and laughed and planned. He had such 
subtle ways of encouragement — as when he told 
me that he had read a lecture of mine to his dying 
daughter, and described how it had comforted 
her. His was a life of profound self-sacrifice, but 
" weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh 
in the morning." 

The new year of 1887 began with a controversy 
that filled the air with unpleasant confusion. A 



MORAL EARTHQUAKES 191 



small river of ink was poured upon it, a vast 
amount of talk was made about it. A priest in 
the Roman Catholic Church, Father McGlynn, was 
arraigned by Archbishop Corrigan for putting his 
hand in the hot water of politics. In various 
ways I was asked my opinion of it all. My most 
decided opinion was that outsiders had better 
keep their hands out of the trouble. The inter- 
ference of people outside of a church with its 
internal affairs only makes things worse. The 
policy of any church is best known by its own 
members. The controversy was not a matter 
into which I could consistently enter. 

The earth began its new year in hard luck. 
The earthquake in Constantinople, in February, 
was only one of a series of similar shakes else- 
where. The scientists were always giving us a 
lot of trouble. Electric showers in the sun dis- 
turbed our climate. Comets had been shooting 
about the sky with enough fire in their tails to 
obliterate us. Caracas was shaken, Lisbon buried, 
Java very badly cracked. It is a shaky, rheumatic, 
epileptic old world, and in one of its stupendous 
convulsions it will die. It's a poor place in which 
to make permanent investments. It was quite as 
insecure in its human standards as in its scientific 
incompetence. 

Our laws were moral earthquakes that des- 
troyed our standards. We were opposed to sneak 
thieves, but we admired the two million dollar 
rascals. Why not a tax of five or ten thousand 
dollars to license the business of theft, so that we 
might put an end to the small scoundrels who had 
genius enough only to steal door mats, or postage 
stamps, or chocolate drops, and confine the 
business to genteel robbery ? A robber paying a 
privilege of ten thousand dollars would then be 
able legally to abscond with fifty thousand 



192 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



dollars from a bank ; or, by watering the stock of 
a railroad, he would be entitled to steal two hun- 
dred thousand dollars at a clip. The thief's 
licence ought to be high, because he would so 
soon make it up. 

A licence on blasphemy might have been equally 
advantageous. It could be made high enough 
so that we could sweep aside all those who swear 
on a small scale, those who never get beyond 
" By George ! " " My stars ! " or " Darn it ! " 
Then, again, the only way to put an end to 
murder in America is by high licenced murderers. 
Put a few men in to manage the business of 
murder. The common assassins who do their 
work with car hooks, dull knives or Paris green, 
should be abolished by law. Let the few experts 
do it who can accomplish murder without pain : 
by chloroform or bulldog revolvers. Give these 
men all the business. The licence in these cases 
should be twenty thousand dollars, because the 
perquisites in gold watches, money safes, and 
plethoric pocket-books would soon offset the 
licence. 

High licences in rum-selling had always been 
urged, and always resulted in dead failures ; there- 
fore the whole method of legal restraint in crime 
can be dismissed with irony. The overcrowding 
in the East was crushing our ethical and practical 
ambition. That is why the trains going westward 
were so crowded that there was hardly room 
enough to stand in them. We were restoring 
ourselves in Kansas and Missouri. After lecturing, 
in the spring of 1887, in fifteen Western cities, 
including Chicago, St. Louis, and westward to 
the extreme boundaries of Kansas, I returned 
a Westerner to convert the Easterner. In the 
West they called this prosperity a boom, but I 
never liked the word, for a boom having swung 



A REVIVAL OF ENTERPRISE 193 



one way is sure to swing the other. It was a 
revival of enterprise which, starting in Birmingham, 
Ala., advanced through Tennessee, and spread 
to Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri. My forecast 
at this time was that the men who went West 
then would be the successes in the next twenty 
years. The centre of American population, which 
two years before had been a little west of Cin- 
cinnati, had moved to Kansas, the heart of the 
continent. The national Capital should have been 
midway between the Atlantic and the Pacific, 
in which case the great white buildings in Wash- 
ington could have been turned into art academies, 
and museums and libraries. 

Prohibition in Kansas and Iowa was making 
honest men. I did not see an intoxicated man in 
either of these States. All the young men in 
Kansas and Iowa were either prohibitionists or 
loafers. The West had lost the song plaintive 
and adopted the song jubilant. 

In the spring of this year, 1887, Brooklyn was 
examined by an investigating committee. Even 
when Mayor Low was in power, three years 
before, the city was denounced by Democratic 
critics, so Mayor Whitney, of course, was the 
victim of Republican critics. The whole thing was 
mere partisan hypocrisy. If anyone asked me 
whether I was a Republican or a Democrat, I 
told them that I had tried both, and got out of 
them both. I hope always to vote, but the title 
of the ticket at the top will not influence me. 
Outside of heaven Brooklyn was the quietest 
place on Sunday. The Packer and the Poly- 
technic institutes took care of our boys and girls. 
Our judiciary at this time included remarkable 
men : Judge Neilson, Judge Gilbert, and Judge 
Reynolds. We had enough surplus doctors to 
endow a medical college for fifty other cities. 

o 



194 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



It looked as though our grandchildren would be 
very happy. We were only in the early morning 
of development. The cities would be multiplied 
a hundredfold, and yet we were groaning because 
a few politicians were conducting an investiga- 
tion for lack of something better to do. From 
time immemorial we had prayed for the President 
and Congress, but I never heard of any prayers 
for the State Legislatures, and they needed them 
most of all. They brought about the groans of 
the nation, and we were constantly in complaint 
of them. I remember a great mass meeting in 
the Academy of Music in Brooklyn, at which I 
was present, to protest against the passage of the 
Gambling Pool Bill, as it was called. I was accused 
of being over-confident because I said the State 
Senate would not pass it without a public hearing. 
A public hearing was given, however, and my 
faith in the legislators of the State increased. 
We ministers of Brooklyn had to do a good deal 
of work outside of our pulpits, outside of our 
churches, on the street and in the crowds. 

When the Ives Gambling Pool Bill was passed 
I urged that the Legislature should adjourn. The 
race track men went to Albany and triumphed. 
Brooklyn was disgraced before the world by our race 
tracks at Coney Island, which were a public shame ! 

All the money in the world, however, was not 
abused. Philanthropists were helping the Church. 
Miss Wolfe bequeathed a million dollars to 
evangelisation in New York ; Mr. Depau, of 
Illinois, bequeathed five million dollars to reli- 
gion, and the remaining three million of his 
fortune only to his family. There were others — 
Cyrus McCormick, James Lenox, Mr. Slater, 
Asa D. Packer. They, with others, were men of 
great deeds. We were just about ready to ap- 
preciate these progressive events. 



A WORLD'S FAIR 195 



In the summer of 1887 I urged a great World's 
Fair, because I thought it was due in our country, 
to the inventors, the artists, the industries of 
America. How to set the idea of a World's Fair 
agoing ? It only needed enthusiasm among the 
prominent merchants and the rich men. All 
great things first start in one brain, in one heart. 
I proposed that a World's Fair should be held in 
the great acreage between Prospect Park and the 
sea. 

In 1853 there was a World's Fair in New York. 
In the same year the dismemberment of the 
Republic was expected, and a book of several 
volumes was advertised in London, entitled 
44 History of the Federal Government from the 
Foundation to the Dissipation of the United 
States." Only one volume was ever published. 
The other volumes were never printed. What a 
difference in New York city then, when it opened 
its Crystal Palace, and thirty-four years later — 
in 1887 ! That Crystal Palace was the beginning 
of World's Fairs in this country. 

In the presence of the epauleted representa- 
tives of foreign nations, before a vast multitude, 
Franklin Pierce, President of the United States, 
declared it open, and as he did so Julien, the 
inspired musical leader of his day, raised his baton 
for an orchestra of three thousand instruments, 
while thousands of trained voices sang 44 God Save 
the Queen," 44 The Marseillaise," 44 Bonnie Doon," 
44 The Harp that once through Tara's Halls," 
and 44 Hail Columbia." What that Crystal 
Palace, opened in New York in 1853, did for 
art, for science, for civilisation, is beyond record. 
The generation that built it has for the most part 
vanished but future generations will be inspired 
by them. 

The summer of 1887 opened the baseball 



196 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



season of America, and I deplored an element of 
roughness and loaferism that attached itself to 
the greatest game of our country. One of the 
national events of this season of that year was a 
proposal to remove the battle-flag of the late 
war. Good sense prevailed, and the controversy 
was satisfactorily settled ; otherwise the whole 
country would have been aflame. It was not 
merely an agitation over a few bits of bunting. 
The most arousing, thrilling, blood-stirring thing 
on earth is a battle-flag. Better let the old 
battle-flags of our three wars hang where they 
are. Only one circumstance could disturb them, 
and that would be the invasion of a foreign power 
and the downfall of the Republic. The strongest 
passions of men are those of patriotism. 

The best things that a man does in the world 
usually take a lifetime to make. A career is a 
life job, and no one is sure whether it was worthy 
or not till it is over. I except doctors from this 
rule, of whom Homer says : — 

A wise physician skilled our wounds to heal 
Is more than armies to the public weal. 

Some may remember the stalwart figure of 
Dr. Joseph Hutchinson, one of the best American 
surgeons. For some years, in the streets of Brook- 
lyn, he was a familiar and impressive figure on 
horseback. He rode superbly, and it was his 
custom to make his calls in that way. He died 
in this year. Daniel Curry was another signi- 
ficant, superior man of a different sort, who also 
died in the summer of 1887. He was an editor 
and writer of the Methodist Church. At his 
death he told one thing that will go into the 
classics of the Church; and five hundred years 
beyond, when evangelists quote the last words 
of this inspired man, they will recall the dying 



POLITICAL PIRACY 197 



vision that came to Daniel Curry. He saw himself 
in the final judgment before the throne, and knew 
not what to do on account of his sins. He felt 
that he was lost, when suddenly Christ saw him 
and said, " I will answer for Daniel Curry." In 
this world of vast population it is wonderful to 
find only a few men who have helped to carry 
the burden of others with distinction for them- 
selves. Most of us are driven. 

In the two years and a half that our Demo- 
cratic party had been in power, our taxes had 
paid in a surplus to the United States treasury 
of $125,000,000. The whole country was groan- 
ing under an infamous taxation. Most of it was 
spent by the Republican party, three or four 
years before, to improve navigation on rivers 
with about two feet of water in them in the 
winter, and dry in summer. In the State of 
Virginia I saw one of these dry creeks that was 
to be improved. Taxation caused the war of the 
Revolution. It had become a grinding wheel of 
government that rolled over all our public 
interests. Politicians were afraid to touch the sub- 
ject for fear they might offend their party. I touch 
upon it here because those who live after me 
may understand, by their own experience, the 
infamy of political piracy practised in the name 
of government taxation. 

We had our school for scandal in America 
over-developed. A certain amount of exposure 
is good for the soul, but our newspaper headlines 
over-reached this ideal purpose. They cultivated 
liars and encouraged their lies. The peculiarity 
of lies is their great longevity. They are a pro- 
ductive species and would have overwhelmed 
the country and destroyed George Washington 
except for his hatchet. Once born, the lie may live 
twenty, thirty, or forty years. At the end of a 



198 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



man's life sometimes it is healthier than he ever 
was. Lies have attacked every occupant of the 
White House, have irritated every man since 
Adam, and every good woman since Eve. To- 
day the lie is after your neighbour ; to-morrow 
it is after you. It travels so fast that a million 
people can see it the next morning. It listens at 
keyholes, it can hear whispers : it has one ear 
to the East, the other to the West. An old- 
fashioned tea-table is its jubilee, and a political 
campaign is its heaven. Avoid it you may not, 
but meet it with calmness and without fear. It 
is always an outrage, a persecution. 

Nothing more offensive to public sentiment 
could have occurred than the attempt made in 
New York in the autumn of 1887 to hinder the 
appointment of a new pastor of Trinity Church, 
on the plea that he came from a foreign country, 
and therefore was an ally to foreign labour. It 
was an outrage on religion, on the Church, on 
common sense. As a nation, however, we were 
safe. There was not another place in the world 
where its chief ruler could travel five thousand 
miles, for three weeks, unprotected by bayonets, 
as Mr. Cleveland did on his Presidential tour of 
the country. It was a universal huzzah, from 
Mugwumps, Republicans, and Democrats. We 
were a safe nation because we destroyed Com- 
munism. 

The execution of the anarchists in Chicago, 
in November, 1887, was a disgusting exhibition 
of the gallows. It took ten minutes for some of 
them to die by strangulation. Nothing could 
have been more barbaric than this method of 
hanging human life. I was among the first to 
publicly propose execution by electricity. Mr. 
Edison, upon a request from the government, 
could easily have arranged it. I was particularly 



BARBARISM OF THE GALLOWS 199 



horrified with the blunders of the hangman's 
methods, because I was in a friend's office in 
New York, when the telegraph wires gave 
instantaneous reports of the executions in 
Chicago. I made notes of these flashes of 
death. 

" Now the prisoners leave the cells," said the 
wire ; " now they are ascending the stairs " ; 
" now the rope is being adjusted " ; " now the 
cap is being drawn " ; " now they fall." Had I 
been there I would probably have felt thankful 
that I was brought up to obey the law, and could 
understand the majesty of restraining powers. 
One of these men was naturally kind and generous, 
I was told, but was embittered by one who had 
robbed him of everything ; and so he became an 
enemy to all mankind. One of them got his 
antipathy for all prosperous people from the 
fact that his father was a profligate nobleman, 
and his mother a poor, maltreated, peasant 
woman. The impulse of anarchy starts high up 
in society. Chief among our blessings was an 
American instinct for lawfulness in the midst of 
lawless temptation. We were often reminded 
of this supreme advantage as we saw passing 
into shadowland the robed figure of an upright 
man. 

The death of Judge Greenwood of Brooklyn, 
in November, 1887, was a reminder of such mat- 
ters. He had seen the nineteenth century in 
its youth and in its old age. From first to last, he 
had been on the right side of all its questions of 
public welfare. We could, appropriately, hang 
his portrait in our court rooms and city halls. 
The artist's brush would be tame indeed compared 
with the living, glowing, beaming face of dear 
old Judge Greenwood in the portrait gallery of 
my recollections. 



200 THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE 



The national event of this autumn was Presi- 
dent Cleveland's message to Congress, which put 
squarely before us the matter of our having 
a protective tariff. It was the great question 
of our national problem, and called for 
oratory and statesmanship to answer it. The 
whole of Europe was interested in the subject. 
I advocated free trade as the best understanding 
of international trading, because I had talked 
with the leaders of political thought in Europe, 
and I understood both sides, as far as my capacity 
could compass them. In America we were 
frequently compared to the citizens of the French 
Republic because of our nervous force, our rest- 
lessness, but we were more patient. In 1887, 
the resignation of President Grevy in France re- 
established this fact. Though an American 
President becomes offensive to the people, we 
wait patiently till his four years are out, even if 
we are not very quiet about it. We are safest 
when we keep our hands off the Constitution. 
The demonstration in Paris emphasised our 
Republican wisdom. Public service is an altar 
of sacrifice for all who worship there. 

The death of Daniel Manning, ex-Secretary of 
the Treasury, in December, 1887, was another 
proof of this. He fell prostrate on the steps of 
his office, in a sickness that no medical aid could 
relieve. Four years before no one realised the 
strength that was in him. He threw body and 
soul into the whirlpool of his work, and was left 
in the rapids of celebrity. In the closing notes 
of 1887, 1 find recorded the death of Mrs. William 
Astor. What a sublime lifetime of charity and 
kindness was hers ! Mrs. Astor's will read like a 
poem. It had a beauty and a pathos, and a 
power entirely independent of rhythmical cadence. 
The document was published to the world on a 



MRS. WILLIAM ASTOR 201 



cold December morning, with its bequests of 
hundreds of thousands of dollars to the poor and 
needy, the invalids and the churches. It put a 
warm glow over the tired and grizzled face of 
the old year. It was a benediction upon the 
coming years. 



THE TWELFTH MILESTONE 



1888 

It seems to me that the constructive age of man 
begins when he has passed fifty. Not until then 
can he be a master builder. As I sped past the 
fifty-fifth milestone life itself became better, 
broader, fuller. My plans were wider, the dis- 
tances I wanted to go stretched before me, 
beyond the normal strength of an average life- 
time. This I knew, but still I pressed on, in- 
different of the speed or strain. There were 
indications that my strength had not been dissi- 
pated, that the years were merely notches that 
had not cut deep, that had scarcely scarred the 
surface of the trunk. The soul, the mind, the 
zest of doing — all were keen and eager. 

The conservation of the soul is not so profound 
a matter as it is described. It consists in a 
guardianship of the gateways through which 
impressions enter, or pass by ; it consists in 
protecting one's inner self from wasteful associa- 
tions. 

The influence of what we read is of chief im- 
portance to character. At the beginning of 1888 
I received innumerable requests from people all 
over New York and Brooklyn for advice on the 
subject of reading. In the deluge of books that 
were beginning to sweep over us many readers 

202 



ON READING 



203 



were drowned. The question of what to read was 
being discussed everywhere. 

I opposed the majority of novels because they 
were made chiefly to set forth desperate love 
scrapes. Much reading of love stories makes one 
soft, insipid, absent-minded, and useless. Affec- 
tions in life usually work out very differently. 
The lady does not always break into tears, nor 
faint, nor do the parents always oppose the 
situation, so that a romantic elopement is possible. 
Excessive reading of these stories makes fools of 
men and women. Neither is it advisable to read 
a book because someone else likes it. It is not 
necessary to waste time on Shakespeare if you 
have no taste for poetry or drama merely because 
so many others like them ; nor to pass a long time 
with Sir William Hamilton when metaphysics are 
not to your taste. When you read a book by 
the page, every few minutes looking ahead to see 
how many chapters there are before the book will 
be finished, you had better stop reading it. There 
was even a fashion in books that was absurd. 
People were bored to death by literature in the 
fashion. 

For a while we had a Tupper epidemic, and 
everyone grew busy writing blank verse — very 
blank. Then came an epidemic of Carlyle, and 
everyone wrote turgid, involved, twisted and break- 
neck sentences, each noun with as many verbs 
as Brigham Young had wives. Then followed a 
romantic craze, and everyone struggled to 
combine religion and romance, with frequent 
punches at religion, and we prided ourselves on 
being sceptical and independent in our literary 
tastes. My advice was simply to make up one's 
mind what to read, and then read it. Life is 
short, and books are many. Instead of making 
your mind a garret crowded with rubbish, make 



204 THE TWELFTH MILESTONE 



it a parlour, substantially furnished, beautifully- 
arranged, in which you would not be ashamed to 
have the whole world enter. 

There was so much in the world to provoke the 
soul, and yet all persecution is a blessing in some 
way. The so-called modern literature, towards 
the close of the nineteenth century, was becoming 
more and more the illegitimate offspring of 
immaturity in thought and feeling. We were the 
slaves of our newspapers ; each morning a library 
was thrown on our doorstep. But what a jumbled, 
inconsequent, muddled -up library ! It was the 
best that could be made in such a hurry, and it 
satisfied most of us, though I believe there were 
conservative people who opened it only to read 
the marriage and the death notices. The latter 
came along fast enough. 

In January, 1888, that well-known American 
jurist and illustrious Brooklynite, Judge Joseph 
Neilson, died. He was an old friend of mine, of 
everyone who came upon his horizon. For a long 
while he was an invalid, but he kept this know- 
ledge from the world, because he wanted no public 
demonstration. The last four years of his life he 
was confined to his room, where he sat all the 
while calm, uncomplaining, interested in all the 
affairs of the world, after a life of active work in 
it. He belonged to that breed which has developed 
the brain and brawn of American character — 
the Scotch-Irish. If Christianity had been a 
fallacy, Judge Neilson would have been just the 
man to expose it. He who on the judicial bench 
sat in solemn poise of spirit, while the ablest 
jurists and advocates of the century were before 
him to be prompted, corrected, or denied, was 
not the man to be overcome by a religion of 
sophistry or mere pretence. Chief Justice Salmon 
P. Chase said that he had studied the Christian 



UNIFICATION OF NATIONS 205 



religion as he had studied a law case, and con- 
cluded that it was divine. Judge Neilson's 
decisions will be quoted in court rooms as long 
as Justice holds its balance. The supremacy of 
a useful life never leaves the earth — its influence 
remains behind. 

The whole world, it seemed to me, was being 
spiritualised by the influences of those whose 
great moments on earth had planted tangible and 
material benefits, years after they themselves 
were invisible. It was an elemental fact in the 
death chamber of Mr. Roswell, the great botanist, 
in England ; in the relieved anxieties in Berlin ; 
in the jubilation in Dublin ; by the gathering of 
noblemen in St. Petersburg ; and in the dawn of 
this new year. I could see a tendency in European 
affairs to the unification of nations. 

The German and the French languages had been 
struggling for the supremacy of Europe. As I 
foresaw events then, the two would first conquer 
Europe, and the stronger of the two would 
swallow the other. Then the English language 
would devour that, and the world would have 
but one language. Over a million people had 
already began the study of Volapuk, a new 
language composed of all languages. This was 
an indication of world nationalisation. Con- 
gresses of nations, meeting for various purposes, 
were establishing brotherhood. It looked as 
though those who were telling us again in 1888 
that the second coming of Christ was at hand 
were right. The divine significance of things 
was greater than it had ever been. 

There was some bigotry in religious affairs, of 
course. In our religion we were as far from 
unity of feeling then as we had ever been. The 
Presbyterian bigot could be recognised by his 
armful of Westminster catechisms. The Methodist 



206 THE TWELFTH MILESTONE 



bigot could be easily identified by his declaration 
that unless a man had been converted by sitting 
on the anxious seat he was not eligible. The way 
to the church militant, according to this bigot, 
was from the anxious seat, one of which he always 
carried with him. The Episcopal bigot struggled 
under a great load of liturgies. Without this 
man's prayer-books no one could be saved, he 
said. The Baptist bigot was bent double with 
the burden of his baptistry. 

" It does not seem as if some of you had been 
properly washed," he said, " and I shall proceed 
to put under the water all those who have neg- 
lected their ablutions." Religion was being 
served in a kind of ecclesiastical hash that, 
naturally enough, created controversy, as very 
properly it should. In spite of these things, 
however, some creed of religious faith, which- 
ever it might be, was universally needed. I 
hope for a church unity in the future. When all 
the branches in each denomination have united, 
then the great denominations nearest akin will 
unite, and this absorption will go on until there 
will be one great millennial Church, divided only 
for geographical convenience into sections as of 
old, when it was the Church of Laodicea, the 
Church of Philadelphia, the Church of Thyatira. 
In the event of this religious evolution then 
there will be the Church of America, the Church 
of Europe, the Church of Asia, the Church of 
Africa, and the Church of Australia. 

We are all builders, bigots, or master me- 
chanics of the divine will. 

The number of men who built Brooklyn, and 
who have gone into eternal industry, were in- 
creasing. One day I paused a moment on the 
Brooklyn Bridge to read on a stone the names of 
those who had influenced the building of that 



THE BLACK- WINGED ANGEL 207 



span of steel, the wonder of the century. They 
were the absent ones : The president, Mr. Murphy, 
absent ; the vice-president, Mr. Kingsley, absent ; 
the treasurer, Mr. Prentice, absent ; the engineer, 
Mr. Roebling, absent. Our useful citizens were 
going or gone. A few days after this Alfred S. 
Barnes departed. He has not disappeared, nor 
will until our Historical Hall, our Academy of 
Music, and Mercantile Library, our great asylums 
of mercy, and churches of all denominations shall 
have crumbled. His name has been a bulwark 
of credit in the financial affairs over which he 
presided. He was a director of many universities. 
What reinforcement to the benevolence of the day 
his patronage was ! I enjoyed a warm personal 
friendship with him for many years, and my gra- 
titude and admiration were unbounded. He was 
a man of strict integrity in business circles, the 
highest type of a practical Christian gentleman. 
Unlike so many successful business men, he 
maintained an unusual simplicity of character. 
He declined the Mayoralty and Congressional 
honours that he might pursue the ways of 
peace. 

The great black-winged angel was being des- 
perately beaten back, however, by the rising gene- 
ration of doctors, young, hearty, industrious, 
ambitious graduates of the American universities. 
How bitterly vaccination was fought even by 
ministers of the Gospel. Small wits caricatured 
it, but what a world-wide human benediction it 
proved. I remember being in Edinburgh a few 
weeks after the death of Sir James Y. Simpson, 
and his photograph was in every shop window, in 
honour of the man who first used chloroform as 
an anaesthetic. In former days they tried to 
dull pain by using the hasheesh of the Arabs. 
Dr. Simpson's wet sponge was a blessing put into 



208 THE TWELFTH MILESTONE 



the hands of the surgeon. The millennium for the 
souls of men will be when the doctors have dis- 
covered the millennium for their bodies. 

Dr. Bush used to say in his valedictory address 
to the students of the medical college, " Young 
gentlemen, you have two pockets : a large 
pocket and a small pocket. The large pocket 
is for your annoyances and your insults, the small 
pocket for your fees." 

In March, 1888, we lost a man who bestowed a 
new dispensation upon the dumb animals that 
bear our burdens — Henry Bergh. Abused and 
ridiculed most of his life, he established a great 
work for the good men and women of the ensuing 
centuries to carry out. Long may his name live 
in our consecrated memory. In the same month, 
from Washington to Toledo, the long funeral 
train of Chief Justice White steamed across 
country, passing multitudes of uncovered heads 
bowed in sorrowing respect, while across the sea 
men honoured his distinguished memory. 

What a splendid inheritance for those of us who 
must pass out of the multitude without much ado, 
if we are not remembered among the bores of life. 
There were bores in the pulpit who made their 
congregations dread Sundays ; made them wish 
that Sunday would come only once a month. 
At one time an original Frenchman actually 
tried having a Sunday only once every ten days. 
A minister should have a conference with his 
people before he preaches, otherwise how can he 
tell what medicine to give them ? He must feel 
the spiritual pulse. Every man is a walking 
eternity in himself, but he will never qualify if he 
insists on being a bore, even if he have to face 
sensational newspaper stories about himself. 

I never replied to any such tales except once, and 
that once came about in the spring of 1888. 



ROSCOE CONKLING 209 



I regarded it as a joke. Some one reported that 
one evening, at a little gathering in my house, 
there were four kinds of wine served. I was 
much interviewed on the subject. I announced 
in my church that the report was false, that we 
had no wine. I did not take the matter as one 
of offence. If I had been as great a master of 
invective and satire as Roscoe Conkling I might 
have said more. In the spring of this year he 
died. The whole country watched anxiously the 
news bulletins of his death. He died a lawyer. 
About Conkling as a politician I have nothing 
to say. There is no need to enter that field of 
enraged controversy. As a lawyer he was 
brilliant, severely logical, if he chose to be, up- 
roarious with mirth if he thought it appropriate. 
He was an optimist. He was on board the 
" Bothnia " when she broke her shaft at sea, and 
much anxiety was felt for him. I sailed a week 
later on the " Umbria," and overtaking the 
"Bothnia," the two ships went into harbour 
together. Meeting Mr. Conkling the next morn- 
ing, in the North- Western Hotel, at Liverpool, I 
asked him if he had not been worried. 

" Oh, no," he said ; "I was sure that good 
fortune would bring us through all right." 

He was the only lawyer I ever knew who 
could afford to turn away from a seat on the bench 
of the Supreme Court of the United States. He 
had never known misfortune. Had he ever been 
compelled to pass through hardships he would 
have been President in 1878. Because of certain 
peculiarities, known to himself, as well as to 
others, he turned aside from politics. Although 
neither Mr. Conkling nor Mr. Blaine could have 
been President while both lived, good people of 
all parties hoped for Mr. Conkling's recovery. 

The national respect shown at the death-bed 



210 THE TWELFTH MILESTONE 



of the lawyer revealed the progress of our times. 
Lawyers, for many years in the past, had been 
ostracised. They were once forbidden entrance 
to Parliament. Dr. Johnson wrote the following 
epitaph, which is obvious enough : — 

God works wonders now and then ; 
Here lies a lawyer an honest man. 



THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



1888—1889 

The longer I live the more I think of mercy. 
Fifty-six years of age and I had not the slightest 
suspicion that I was getting old. It was like a crisp, 
exquisitely still autumn day. I felt the strength 
and buoyancy of all the days I had lived merging 
themselves into a joyous anticipation of years and 
years to come. For a long while I had cherished 
the dream that I might some day visit the Holy 
Land, to see with my own eyes the sky, the fields, 
the rocks, and the sacred background of the 
Divine Tragedy. The tangible plans were made, 
and I was preparing to sail in October, 1889. I 
felt like a man on the eve of a new career. The 
fruition of the years past was about to be a great 
harvest of successful work. I speak of it without 
reserve, as we offer prayers of gratitude for great 
mercies. 

Everything before me seemed finer than any- 
thing I had ever known. Few men at my age 
were so blessed with the vigour of health, with the 
elixir of youth. To the world at large I was 
indebted for its appreciation, its praise sometimes, 
its interest always. My study in Brooklyn was 
a room that had become a picturesque starting 
point for the imagination of kindly newspaper men. 
They were leading me into a new element of celebrity. 

211 



212 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



One morning, in my house in Brooklyn, I was 
asked by a newspaper in New York if it might 
send a reporter to spend the day with me there. 
I had no objection. The reporter came after 
breakfast. Breakfast was an awkward meal for 
the newspaper profession, otherwise we should 
have had it together. I made no preparation, 
set no scene, gave the incident no thought, but 
spent the day in the usual routine of a pastor's 
duty. It is an incident that puts a side-light on 
my official duties as a minister in his home, and 
for that reason I refer to it in detail. Some of the 
descriptions made by the reporter were accurate, 
and illustrative of my home life. 

My mail was heavy, and my first duty was 
always to take it under my arm to my workshop 
on the second floor of my home in South Oxford 
Street. In doing this I was closely followed by 
the reporter. My study was a place of many 
windows, and on this morning in the first week 
of 1888 it was flooded with sunshine, or as the 
reporter, with technical skill, described it, "A 
mellow light." The sun is always " mellow " in 
a room whenever I have read about it in a news- 
paper. The reporter found my study " an un- 
attractive room," because it lacked the signs of 
" luxury " or even " comfort." As I was erron- 
eously regarded as a clerical Croesus at this time 
the reporter's disappointment was excusable. 
The Gobelin tapestries, the Raphael paintings, 
the Turkish divans, and the gold and silver trap- 
pings of a throne room were missing in my study. 
The reporter found the floor distressingly " hard, 
but polished wood." The walls were painfully 
plain — " all white." My table, which the re- 
porter kindly signified as a " big one," was drawn 
up to a large window. Of course, like all tables 
of the kind, it was "littered," I never read of a 



A DAY WITH A REPORTER 218 



library table in a newspaper that was not 
" littered." The reporter spied everything upon 
it at once, " letters, newspapers, books, pens, ink 
bottles, pencils, and writing-paper." All of 
which, of course, indicated intellectual supremacy 
to the reporter. The chair at my table was 44 stiff 
backed," and, amazing fact, it was " without a 
cushion." In front of the chair, but on the table, 
the reporter discovered an " open book," which 
he concluded " showed that the great preacher 
had been hurriedly called away." In every 
respect it was a "typical literary man's den." 
Glancing shrewdly around, the reporter dis- 
covered " bookshelves around the walls, books 
piled in corners, and even in the middle of the 
room." Also a newspaper file was noticed, and 
— careless creature that I am — " there were even 
bundles of old letters tied with strings thrown 
carelessly about." The reporter then said : — 

44 He told me this was his workshop, and 
looked me in the face with a merry twinkle 
in his eye to see whether I was surprised or 
pleased." 

Then I asked the reporter to 44 sit down," 
which he promptly did. I was closely watched 
to see how I opened my mail. Nothing startling 
happened. I just opened 44 letter after letter." 
Some I laid aside for my secretary, others I 
actually attended to myself. 

A letter from a young lady in Georgia, asking 
me to send her what I consider the most im- 
portant word in my vocabulary, I answered 
immediately. The ever- watchful reporter ob- 
serves that to do this 44 1 pick up a pen and 
write on the margin of the girl's letter the word 
4 helpfulness.' " Then I sign it and stick it in an 
envelope. Then I 44 dash off the address." 
Obviously I am not at all original at home. I 



214 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



replied to a letter from the president of a theo- 
logical seminary, asking me to speak to his young 
men. I like young men so I agree to do so if I 
can. I 44 startle " the reporter finally, by a 
sudden burst of unexpected hilarity over a letter 
from a man in Pennsylvania who wants me to 
send him a cheque by return mail for one hundred 
thousand dollars, on a sure thing investment. 
The reporter says : — 

44 I am startled by a shrill peal of laughter, 
and the great preacher leans back in his chair 
and shakes his sides." 

The reporter looks over my shoulder and sees 
other letters. 

44 A young minister writes to say that his con- 
gregation is leaving him. How shall he get his 
people back ? An old sailor scrawls on a piece of 
yellow paper that he is bound for the China seas and 
he wants a copy of each of Dr. Talmage's sermons 
sent to his old wife in New Bedford, Mass., while 
he is gone. Here is a letter in a schoolgirl's hand. 
She has had a quarrel with her first lover and he 
has left her in a huff. How can she get him back ? 
Another letter is from the senior member of one 
of the biggest commercial houses in Brooklyn. 
It is brief, but it gives the good doctor pleasure. 
The writer tells him how thoroughly he enjoyed 
the sermon last Sunday. The next letter is from 
the driver of a horse car. He has been discharged. 
His children go to Dr. Talmage's Sunday School. 
Is that not enough to show that the father is 
reliable and steady, and will not the preacher go 
at once to the superintendent of the car line and 
have him reinstated. Here is a perfumed note 
from a young mother who wants her child bap- 
tised. There are invitations to go here and there, 
and to speak in various cities. Young men write 
for advice : One with the commercial instinct 



THE PASTOR AT HOME 215 



strongly developed, wants to know if the ministry 
pays ? Still another letter is from a patent 
medicine house, asking if the preacher will not 
write an endorsement of a new cure for rheu- 
matism. Other writers take the preacher to task 
for some utterance in the pulpit that did not 
please them. Either he was too lenient or too 
severe. A young man wants to get married and 
writes to know what it will cost to tie the knot. 
A New York actress, who has been an attendant 
for several Sundays at the Tabernacle, writes to 
say that she is so well pleased with the sermons 
that she would be glad if she could come earlier 
on Sunday morning, but she is so tired when 
Saturday night comes that she can't get up early. 
Would it be asking too much to have a seat 
reserved for her until she arrived ! " 

A maid in a " white cap " comes to the door 
and informs me that a " roomful of people " are 
waiting to see me downstairs. It is the usual 
routine of my morning's work, when I receive all 
who come to me for advice and consolation. The 
reporter regards it, however, as an event, and 
writes about it in this way : — 

" Visitors to the Talmage mansion are ushered 
through a broad hall into the great preacher's 
back parlour. They begin to arrive frequently 
before breakfast, and the bell rings till long after 
the house is closed for the night. There are men 
and women of all races, some richly dressed, some 
fashionably, some very poorly. Many of them 
had never spoken a word to Dr. Talmage before. 
They think that Talmage has only to strike the 
rock to bring forth a stream of shining coins. He 
steps into their midst pleasantly. 

" 6 Well, young man,' he says to a youth of 
seventeen, who stands before him. He offers the 
boy his hand and shakes it heartily. 



216 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



" ' I don't suppose you know me,' says the 
lad, 4 but I'm in your Sunday School. Mother 
thinks I should go to work and I have come to 
you for advice.' 

" Then follows in whispers a brief conversation 
about the boy himself, his parents, his education 
and mode of life. 

" 4 Now,' says the preacher, leading him by 
the hand to the door, 4 get a letter from your 
mother, and also one from your Sunday School 
teacher, and one from your Day School teacher, 
and bring them to me. If they are satisfactory 
I will give you a letter to a warm friend of mine 
who is one of the largest dry goods merchants in 
New York. If you are able, bright, and honest 
he will employ you. If you are faithful you may 
some day be a member of the firm. All the world 
is before you, lad. Be honest, have courage. 
Roll up your sleeves and go to work and you will 
succeed. Goodbye ! ' and the door closes. 

" The next caller is an old woman who wants 
the popular pastor to get her husband work in 
the Navy Yard. No sooner is she disposed of, 
with a word of comfort, than a spruce-looking 
young man steps forward. He is a book agent, 
and his glib tongue runs so fast that the preacher 
subcribes for his book without looking at it. As 
the agent retires a shy young girl comes forward 
and asks for the preacher's autograph. It is 
given cheerfully. Two old ladies of bustling 
activity have come to ask for advice about open- 
ing a soup kitchen for the poor. A middle-aged 
man pours out a sad story of woe. He is a hard- 
working carpenter. His only daughter is inclined 
to be wayward. Would Dr. Talmage come round 
and talk to her ? 

44 Finally, all the callers have been heard except 
one young man who sits in a corner of the room 



CONSULTATION AND ADVICE 217 



toying with his hat. He has waited patiently 
so that he might have the preacher all alone. He 
rises as Dr. Talmage walks over to him. 

" ' I am in no hurry,' he says. ' I'll wait if you 
want to speak to — to — to that man over there,' 
pointing to me. 

" 6 No,' is the reply. 6 We are going out 
together soon. What can I do for you ? ' 

" 4 Well I can call again if you are too busy to 
talk to me now ? ' 

66 4 No, I am not too busy. Speak up. I can 
give you ten minutes.' 

" 4 But I want a long talk,' persists the visitor. 

" 6 I'd like to oblige you,' says the preacher, 
4 but I'm very busy to-day.' 

44 4 I'll come to-morrow.' 

44 4 No ; I shall be busy to-morrow also.' 

44 4 And to-night, too ? ' 

44 4 Yes ; my time is engaged for the entire week. 

44 4 Well, then,' says the young man, in a 
stammering way ; 4 1 want your advice. I'm 
employed in a big house in New York and I am 
getting a fair salary. I have been offered a 
position in a rival house. Would it be right and 
honourable for me to leave ? I am to get a little 
more salary. I must give my answer by to- 
morrow. I must make some excuse for leaving. 
I've thought it all over and don't know what to 
say. My present employers have treated me 
well. I want your advice.' 

44 The good preacher protests that it is a 
delicate question to put to a stranger, even if 
that stranger happens to be a minister. 

44 4 Is the firm a good one ? Are you treated 
well ? Haven't you a fair chance ? Aren't they 
honourable men ? ' 

44 The answer to all these questions was in the 
affirmative. 



218 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



44 6 But you could tell me whether it would be 
right for me to do it, and — and — if I could get a 
letter of recommendation from you it would help 
me.' 

" ' Why don't you ask your mother or father 
for advice ? ' 

44 4 They are dead.' 

" ' Was your mother a Christian ? ' 

" c Yes.' 

" 4 Then get down on your knees here and lift 
your face to heaven. Ask your angel mother if 
you would be doing right.' 

" The young man's eyes fall to the floor. He 
toys nervously with his hat and backs out of the 
hall to the door. As he turns the knob he holds 
out his right-hand to the preacher and whispers : 

" 6 I thank you for your advice. I'll not leave 
my present employer.' 

" Now the great preacher hastily puts on a 
thick overcoat and, taking a heavy walking-stick 
in hand, says : ' We'll go now.' He calls a 
cheery 4 goodbye ' to Mrs. Talmage and closes 
the big door behind him. The air is crispy and in- 
vigorating. Once in the street the preacher 
throws back his shoulders until his form is as 
straight as that of an Indian. His blue eyes look 
out from behind a pair of shaggy eyebrows. They 
snap and sparkle like a schoolboy's. The face 
denotes health and strength. The preacher is 
fond of walking and strides along with giant 
steps. The colour quickly mounts to his cheeks 
and reveals a face free from lines and full of health 
and manly vigour. He has noted the direction 
that he is to take carefully. As he walks along 
the street he is noticed by everybody. His figure 
is a familiar one in the streets of Brooklyn. Nearly 
everybody bows to him. He has a hearty 4 How 
are you to-day ? ' for all. 



A PASTORAL VISIT 219 



" Our direction lies in a thickly-populated 
section, not many blocks from the water front. 
It is in the tenement district where dozens of 
families are huddled together in one house. We 
pause in front of a rickety building and stop an 
urchin in the hallway, who replies to the question 
that we are in the right house. Then the good 
Doctor pulls out of his pocket the letter he re- 
ceived some hours ago from the grief-stricken 
young mother whose baby was ill and who asked 
for aid. 

44 Up flight after flight of stairs we go ; two 
storeys, three, four, five. As we reach the landing, 
a tidy young woman appears. She is holding her 
face in her hands and sobbing to break her heart. 

" 6 Oh, I knew you would come,' she says, as 
the tears roll down her cheeks ; 4 I used to go 
to your church, and I know how deeply your 
sermons touched me. Oh ! That was long ago. 
It was before I knew John, and before our baby 
came.' 

" Here the speaker broke down completely. 

" 4 But it's all over now,' she began again. 

" 4 John has ill-used me, and beaten me, and 
forced me to support him in drunkenness. I 
could stand all that for my baby's sake.' 

44 She had sunk to the floor on her knees. She 
was pouring out her soul in agony of grief. 

44 4 Oh ! my baby, my baby ! ' she cried 
piteously. 4 Why were you taken ? Oh, the 
blow is too much ! I can't stand it. Merciful 
Father, have I not suffered enough ? ' 

44 She fell in a heap on the floor. The heavy 
breathing and sobbing continued. We looked 
into the little room. It was scrupulously clean, 
but barren of furniture and even the rudest com- 
forts of a home. The window curtains are pulled 
down, but a ray of bright sunlight shoots in and 



220 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



lying on the apology for a bed is a babe. Its eyes 
are closed. Its face is as white as alabaster. The 
little thin hands are folded across its tiny breast. 
Its sufferings are over. 

" The Angel of Death had touched its forehead 
with its icy finger and its spirit had flown to the 
clouds. 

" The end had come before the preacher could 
offer aid. 

" What a scene it was ! 

" Here, in one of the biggest cities in the world, 
an innocent child had died of hunger, and because 
its mother was too poor to pay for medical 
attendance. 

" A word or two was whispered in the mother's 
ear and we pass down the creaking stairs to the 
street. The sun is shining brightly. A half- 
dozen romping children are on their way home to 
lunch. The business of the great city is moving 
briskly. It is Christmas week and the air is 
redolent with the suggestions of good things to 
come and visions of Kriss Kringle. Truck 
drivers are whipping their horses and swearing 
at others in their way. An organ-grinder is 
playing ' Sweet violets ' on a neighbouring corner. 
Everyone in the streets is of smiling face and 
happy." 

The picture is not mine, nor could I have drawn 
one of myself, but it is a sketch illustrating the 
almost daily experiences of a " popular " minister, 
as I was called. It was estimated that my weekly 
sermons, in all parts of the world, reached 
180,000,000 people every Monday morning — the 
year 1888. This was gratifying to a man who, 
in his student days, had been told that he would 
never be fit to preach the Gospel in any American 
pulpit. I thanked God for the great opportunity 
of His blessings. 



DR. TALMAGE AS CHAPLAIN OF THE THIRTEENTH REGIMENT. 



MY COMMISSION AS CHAPLAIN 221 



In the spring of 1888 I received the honour of 
being made chaplain of the " Old Thirteenth " 
Regiment of the National Guard, with a com- 
mission as captain, to succeed my old friend and 
fellow- worker, Henry Ward Beecher, who had 
died. Although I was a very busy man I accepted 
it, because I had always felt it my duty to be a 
part of any public-spirited enterprise. On March 
7th, 1888, before a vast assembly, the oath was 
administered by Colonel Austen, and I received 
my commission. Memories of my actual, though 
brief, sight of war, at Sharpsburg and Hagerstown, 
where the hospitals were filled with wounded 
soldiers, mingled faintly with the actual scene of 
peace and plenty around me at that moment. 
We needed no epaulet then but the shoulder that 
is muscular, and we needed no commanding 
officer but the steadiness of our own nerves. The 
Thirteenth Regiment was at the height of its 
prosperity then ; our band, under the leadership 
of Fred Inness, was the best in the city. I re- 
membered it well because, in the parade on 
Decoration Day, I was on horseback riding a 
somewhat unmusical horse. It was comforting, 
if not strictly true, to read in the newspaper the 
following day that " Doctor Talmage rides his 
horse with dash and skill." 

The association of ideas in American life is a 
wonderful mixture of the appropriate and the in- 
appropriate. Because my church was crowded, 
because I lived in a comfortable house, because 
I could become, on occasions, a preacher on horse- 
back, I was rated as a millionaire clergyman. It 
was amusing to read about, but difficult to live 
up to. There were many calculations in the news- 
papers as to my income. Some of the more 
moderate figures were correct. My salary was 
$12,000 as pastor of the Tabernacle, I have mq,de 



222 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



over $20,000 a year from my lectures. From 
the publication of my sermons my income was 
equal to my salary. I received $5,000 a year as 
editor of a popular monthly ; I sometimes wrote 
an article that paid me $150 or more, and 
a single marriage fee was often as high as $250. 
There were some royalties on my books. 

We lived well, dressed comfortably ; but there 
were many demands on me then, as on all public 
men, and I needed all I could earn. I carried a 
life insurance of $75,000. All this was a long way 
from being a Croesus of the clergy, however. I 
mention these figures and facts because they 
stimulate to me, as I hope they will to others, the 
possibilities of temporal welfare in a minister's 
life, provided he works hard and is faithful to the 
tremendous trusts of his calling. 

A man's industry is the whole of that man, 
just as his laziness is the end of him. I always 
believed heartily, profoundly, in the equality of 
a man's salvation with a man's self-respect in 
temporal affairs. I am sure that whoever keeps 
the books in Heaven credits the account of a new 
arrival with the exact amount of salvation he or 
she has achieved, making a due allowance for the 
amounts earned and paid over to the causes of 
charity, kindliness, and mercy. 

I always believed in the business and the 
religious method of the Salvation Army, because 
it was an effort to discipline salvation on a work- 
ing basis. When the Salvation Army first began its 
meetings in Brooklyn its members were hooted and 
insulted in the streets to an extent that rendered 
their meetings almost impossible. I was requested 
to present a petition to Mayor Whitney asking 
protection for them in the streets of the city. 
People residing near the Salvation headquarters 
were in constant danger of annoyance from the 



DINNERS AT THE PRESS CLUB 223 



mobs that gathered about them. It was the fault 
of the Brooklyn ruffianism. I demanded that 
the Salvation Army be permitted to hold meet- 
ings and march in processions unmolested. No 
one was ever killed by a street hosannah, no 
one was ever hurt by hearing a hallelujah. The 
more inspiring the music the more virile the 
optimism we can show, the more good we can do 
each other in the climb to Paradise. A minister's 
duty in his own community, and in all other 
communities in which he may find himself, is to 
make the great men of his time understand him 
and like him. 

A minister who could adapt himself to the 
lights and shadows of human character in men of 
prominence enjoyed many opportunities that 
were enlightening. One met them, these men of 
many talents, at their best at dinners and ban- 
quets. It was then they were in their splendour. 

Those dinners at the Press Club in 1888, what 
a treat they were ! In the days of John A. 
Cockerill, the handsome, dashing 44 Colonel," 
as he was called, of Mayor Grant the suave, 
Chauncey M. Depew the wit, of Charles Emory 
Smith the conservative journalist, of Henry 
George the Socialist, Moses P. Handy the 
" Major," of Roswell P. Flower, of Judge Henry 
Hilton, of General Felix Agnus — and of Hermann, 
the original, the great, the magic wonder-maker 
of the times. They were the leading spirits of an 
army of bright men who pushed the world upside 
down, or rolled it over and over, or made it stand 
still, according to how they felt. Mingling with 
these arbiters of our fate were all sorts and con- 
ditions of men. At one of these dinners I remem- 
ber seeing Inspector Byrnes, the Sherlock Holmes 
of American crime, Colonel Ochiltree, the red 
savage, Steven Fiske, Samuel Carpenter, Judge 



224 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



David McAdam, John W. Keller, Judge Gedney, 
" Pat " Gilmore, Rufus Hatch, General Horatio C. 
King, Frank B. Thurber, J. Amory Knox, E. B. 
Harper, W. J. Arkell, Dr. Nagle, the poet Geoghe- 
ghan, Doc White, and Joseph Howard, jun. They 
were the old guard of the land of Bohemia, where 
a minister's voice sounded good to them if it was 
a voice without cant or religious hypocrisy. I 
remember a letter sent by President Harrison to 
one of these dinners, in which, after acknowledg- 
ing the receipt of an invitation to attend, he 
regretted being unable to be present at "so 
attractive an event." 

Among the men whom I first met at this time, 
and who made an impression of lasting respect 
upon me, was Henry Cabot Lodge. He was the 
guest of General Stewart L. Woodford, at a break- 
fast given in his honour in the spring of 1888 at 
the Hamilton Club. General Woodford invited 
me, among others, to meet him. We all came — 
Mr. Benjamin A. Stillman, Mr. J. S. T. Stranahan, 
Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, Judge C. R. Pratt, ex- 
Mayor Schroeder, Mr. John Winslow, president 
of the New England Society, Mr. George M. 
Olcott, Mr. William Copeland Wallace, Colonel 
Albert P. Lamb, Mr. Charles A. Moore, Mr. 
William B. Williams, Mr. Ethan Allen Doty, Mr. 
James S. Case, Mr. T. L. Woodruff. It was a 
social innovation then to arrange a gathering of 
this sort at 11 a.m. and call it a breakfast. It 
came from England. Mr. Lodge was only in 
town on a visit for a few days, chiefly, I think, 
to attend the annual dinner of the " Sunrise 
Sons," as the members of the New England 
society were called. As I read these names again, 
how big some of them look now, in the world's note- 
book of celebrities. Some of them were just beginn- 
ing to learn the pleasant taste of ambitious careers. 



WORK 



225 



Most of them had discovered that ambition was 
the gift of hard work. There is more health 
in work than in any medicine I ever heard of. 

Work is the only thing that keeps people alive. 
Whatever posterity may proclaim for me, I always 
had the reputation of being a worker. Perhaps 
for this reason I became the object of a micro- 
scopic investigation before the people in 1888. 
It was the first time in my life that any notable 
attention had been taken of me in my own 
country, that was not a personal notoriety over 
some conflict of the hour. Whenever the Ameri- 
can newspaper begins to describe your home life 
with an air of analysis that is not libellous you are 
among the famous. It took me a little while to 
understand this. A man's private life is of such 
indifferent character to himself, unless he be an 
official representative of the people, that I never 
quite appreciated the importance given to mine, 
at this time, in Brooklyn. Chiefly because I had 
made money as a writer, my fellow- citizens were 
curious to know how, in the clerical profession, 
it could be made. Articles appeared constantly 
in the newspapers with headlines like these — 
44 Dr. Talmage at Home," "In a Clergyman's 
Study," "Dr. Talmage's Wealth," 44 Talmage 
Interviewed." Nearly all of them began with the 
American view point uppermost, in this fashion : 

44 The American preacher lives in a luxurious 
home." 

44 His income, from all sources, exceeds that of 
the President of the United States." 

44 The impression is everywhere that Dr. Tal- 
mage is very rich." 

I regretted this because there is a notion that 
a minister of the Gospel cannot accumulate money 
for himself, that he should not do so if he could, 
that his duty consists in collecting money for his 

Q 



226 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



church, his parish, his mission — for anything and 
everyone but his own temporal prosperity. I had 
done this all my life. I can solemnly say that I 
never sought the financial success which in some 
measure came to me. I regarded the money which 
I received for my work as pastor of the Tabernacle, 
or from other sources as an earning capacity that 
is due to every working man. I was able to do 
more work than some, because the motives of 
my whole life have insisted that I work hard. 
The impetus of my strength was not abnormal, 
it was merely the daily requirement of my health 
that I work as hard as I knew how as long as I 
could. Restlessness was an element of life with 
me. I could not keep still any length of time. My 
mind had acquired the habit of ideas, and my 
hands were always full of unfinished labours. 

I remember trying once to sit still at a concert 
of Gilmore's band, at Manhattan Beach. After 
hearing one selection I found myself unable to 
listen any farther — I could not sit quiet for longer. 
I rarely allowed myself more than five minutes 
for shaving, no matter whether the razor were 
sharp or blunt. They used to tell me that I wore 
a black bow tie till it was not fit to wear. On the 
trains I slept a great deal. Sleep is the great 
storage battery of life. Four days of the week I 
was on the train. I rose every morning at six. 
The first thing I did was to glance over the 
morning newspaper, to catch in this whispering 
gallery of the world the life of a new day. First 
the cable news, then the editorials, then the news 
about ourselves. I received the principal news- 
papers of almost every big city in the morning 
mail I enjoyed the caricatures of myself, they 
made me laugh. If a man poked fun at me with 
true wit I was his friend. They were clever 
fellows those newspaper humorists. I consider 



MY HABITS OF LIFE 227 



walking a very important exercise — not merely a 
stroll but a good long walk. Often I used to go 
from the Grand Central Depot in New York to my 
home in Brooklyn. There and back was my 
usual promenade. Seven miles should be an 
average walk for a man past fifty every day. I 
have made fifteen and twenty miles without 
fatigue. I always dined in the middle of the day. 
Contrary to " Combes' Physiology," I always 
took a nap after dinner. In my boyhood days 
this was a book that opposed the habit. Combes 
said that he thought it very injurious to sleep 
after dinner, but I saw the cow lie down after 
eating, and the horse, and it seemed to me that 
Combes was wrong. A morning bath is absolutely 
indispensable. When I was in college there were no 
luxurious hot and cold bath rooms. I often had to 
break the ice in my pitcher to get at the water. 

These were the habits of my life, formed in my 
youth, and as they grew upon me they were the 
sinews that kept me young in the heart and brain 
and muscle. My voice rarely, if ever, failed me 
entirely. In 1888, to my surprise and delight, 
my western trips had become ovations that no 
human being could fail to enjoy. In St. Paul, 
Duluth, Minneapolis, the crowds in and about the 
churches where I preached were estimated to be 
over twenty thousand. It was a joy to live 
realising the service one could be to others. This 
year of 1888 was to be a climax to so many aspi- 
rations of my life that I am forced to record it as 
one of the most important of all my working years. 
No event of any consequence in the country, 
social or political, or disastrous, happened, that 
my name was not available to the ethical phase of 
its development. Newspaper squibs of all sorts 
reflect this fact in some way. Here is one that 
illustrates my meaning : 



228 THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE 



" Only Talmage ! 

" The weary husband was lounging in the old 
armchair reading before the fire after the day's 
work. Suddenly he brought down his hand 
vigorously upon his knee, exclaiming, 4 That's 
so ! That's so ! ' A minute after, he cried again, 
6 Well, I should say.' Then later, 'Good for you ; 
hit them right and left.' Soon he stretched 
himself out at full length in the chair, let his 
right hand, holding the paper, drop nearly to the 
floor, threw up his left and laughed aloud until 
the rafters rang. His anxious wife inquired, 6 What 
is it so funny, John ? ' 

" He made no reply, but lifted the paper again, 
straightened himself up, and went on reading. 
Very quiet he now grew by degrees. Then slyly he 
slipped his left hand around and drew out his 
handkerchief, wiped his brow and lips by way 
of excuse and gave his eyelids a passing dash. 
The very next moment he pressed the handker- 
chief to his eyes and let the paper drop to the 
floor, saying, 6 Well, that's wonderful.' ' What 
is it, John ? ' his good wife inquired again. 
4 Oh ! It's only Talmage ! ' " 

My contemporaries in Brooklyn celebrity at 
this time were unusual men. Some of them were 
dear friends, some of them close friends, some of 
them advisers or champions, guardians of my 
peace — all of them friends. 

About this time I visited Johnstown, shortly 
after the flood. My heart was weary with the 
scenes of desolation about me. It did not seem 
possible that the hospitable city of Johnstown I 
had known in other days could be so tumbled 
down by disaster. Where I had once seen the 
street, equal in style to Euclid Avenue in 
Cleveland, I found a long ridge of sand strewn 
with planks and driftwood. By a wave from 



THE JOHNSTOWN FLOOD 



229 



twelve to twenty feet high, 800 houses were 
crushed, twenty-eight huge locomotives from the 
round house were destroyed, hundreds of people 
dead and dying in its anger. Two thousand dead 
were found, 2,000 missing, was the record the day 
I was there. The place became used to death. 
It was not a sensation to the survivors to see it 
about them. I saw a human body taken out of 
the ruins as if it had been a stick of wood. No 
crowd gathered about it. Some workmen a 
hundred feet away did not stop their work to see. 
The devastation was far worse than was ever told. 
The worst part of it could not even be seen. The 
heart-wreck was the unseen tragedy of this un- 
fortunate American city. From Brooklyn I 
helped to send temporary relief. With a wooden 
box in my hand I, with others, collected from the 
bounty of that vast meeting in the Academy of 
Music. The exact amount paid over by our relief 
committee in all was $95,905. There was no end 
to the demand upon one's energy in all directions. 

I was called upon in September, 1888, to lay 
the corner stone of the First Presbyterian Church 
at Far-Rock-away, and amid the imposing cere- 
monies I predicted the great future of Long 
Island. It seemed to me that Long Island 
would some day be the London of America, filled 
with the most prominent churches of the country. 

While in the plans of others I was an impulse at 
least towards success, in my own plans, how often 
I have been scourged and beaten to earth. As it 
had been before, so it was in this zenith of my 
personal progress. To my amazement, chagrin 
and despair, on the morning of October 13, 1889, 
our beautiful church was again burned to the 
ground. 



THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



1889—1891 

For fifteen years, to a large part of the public, I 
had been an experiment in church affairs. In 
1889 I had caught up with the world and the 
things I had been doing and thinking and hoping 
became suitable for the world. In the retrospect 
of those things I had left behind what gratitude 
I felt for their strife and struggle ! A minister of 
the Gospel is not only a sentinel of divine orders, 
he must also have deep convictions of his author- 
ity to resist attack in his own way, by his own 
force, with his own strength and faith. When, 
on June 3, 1873, I laid the corner-stone of the 
new tabernacle, I dedicated the sacred building 
as a stronghold against rationalism and humani- 
tarianism. I knew then that this statement was 
regarded as questionable orthodoxy, and I myself 
had become the curious symbol of a new religion. 
Still I pursued my course, an independent sentry 
on the outskirts of the old religious camping- 
ground, but inspired with the converting grace I 
had received in my boyhood, my duty was clearly 
not so much a duty of regulations as it was a 
conception, a sympathy, a command to the 
Christian needs of the human race. 

When the first Tabernacle was consumed by 

230 



THE FLAMES GOD'S UTTERANCES 231 



fire my utterances were criticised and my enthu- 
siasm to rebuild it was misconstrued. My con- 
victions then were the same, they have always 
been the same. To me it seemed that God's most 
vehement utterances had been in flames of fire. 
The most tremendous lesson He ever gave to New 
York was in the conflagration of 1835 ; to Chicago 
in the conflagration of 1871 ; to Boston in the 
conflagration of 1872 ; to my own congregation 
in the fiery downfall of the Tabernacle. Some 
saw in the flames that roared through its organ 
pipes a requiem, nothing but unmitigated disaster, 
while others of us heard the voice of God, as from 
Heaven, sounding through the crackling thunder 
of that awful day, saying, " He shall baptise you 
with the Holy Ghost and with Fire ! " 

It was a very different state of public feeling 
which met the disaster that came to the Taber- 
nacle on that early Sabbath morning of October 
13, 1889. I had a congregation of millions all 
over the world to appeal to. I stood before them, 
accredited in the religious course I had pursued, 
approved as a minister of the Gospel, upheld as a 
man and a preacher. The hand of Providence is 
always a mysterious grasp of life that confuses 
and dismays, but it always rebuilds, restores, and 
prophesies. 

The second Tabernacle was destroyed during 
a terrific thunderstorm. It was crumpled and 
torn by the winds and the flames of heaven. I 
watched the fire from the cupola of my house in 
silent abnegation. The history of the Brooklyn 
Tabernacle had been strange and peculiar all the 
way through. Things that seemed to be against us 
always turned out finally for us. Our brightest 
and best days always follow disaster. Our en- 
largements of the building had never met our 
needs. Our plans had pleased the people, but we 



232 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



needed improvements. In this spirit I accepted 
the situation, and the Board of Trustees sustained 
me. Our insurance on the church building was 
over $120,000. I made an appeal to the people 
of Brooklyn and to the thousands of readers my 
sermons had gained, for the sum of $100,000. 
It would be much easier to accomplish, I felt, than 
it had been before. 

At my house in Brooklyn, on the evening of the 
day of the fire, the following resolutions were 
passed by the Board of Trustees : — 

" Resolved — that we bow in humble sub- 
mission to the Providence which this morning 
removed our beloved Church, and while we cannot 
fully understand the meaning of that Providence 
we have faith that there is kindness as well as 
severity in the stroke. 

" Resolved : — That if God and the people help 
us we will proceed at once to rebuild, and that 
we rear a larger structure to meet the demands 
of our congregation, the locality and style of the 
building to be indicated by the amount of con- 
tributions made." 

A committee was immediately formed to select 
a temporary place of worship, and the Academy of 
Music was selected, because of its size and location. 

I was asked for a statement to the people 
through the press. From a scrap-book I copy this 
statement : — 

" To the People— 

" By sudden calamity we are without a church. 
The building associated with so much that is dear 
to us is in ashes. In behalf of my stricken con- 
gregation I make appeal for help. Our church 
has never confined its work to this locality. Our 
church has never been sufficient either in size or 
appointments for the people who came. We 



APPEAL FOR NEW TABERNACLE 233 



want to build something worthy of our city and 
worthy of the cause of God. 

"We want $100,000, which, added to the 
insurance, will build what is needed. I make 
appeal to all our friends throughout Christendom, 
to all denominations, to all creeds and to those 
of no creed at all, to come to our rescue. I ask 
all readers of my sermons the world over to con- 
tribute as far as their means will allow. What we 
do as a Church depends upon the immediate response 
made to this call. I was on the eve of departure 
for a brief visit to the Holy Land that I might be 
better prepared for my work here, but that visit 
must be postponed. I cannot leave until some- 
thing is done to decide our future. 

" May the God who has our destiny as in- 
dividuals and as churches in His hand appear for 
our deliverance ! 

"Responses to this appeal to the people may be 
sent to me in Brooklyn, and I will with my own 
hand acknowledge the receipt thereof. 

" T. DeWitt Talmage." 

I had planned to sail for the Holy Land on 
October 30, but the disaster that had come upon 
us seemed to make it impossible. I had almost 
given it up. There followed such an universal 
response to my appeal, such a remarkable current 
of sympathy, however, that completely over- 
whelmed me, so that by the grace of God I was 
able to sail. To the trustees of the Tabernacle 
much of this was due. They were the men who 
stood by me, my friends, my advisers. I record 
their names as the Christian guardians of my 
destiny through danger and through safety. 
They were Dr. Harrison A. Tucker, John Wood, 
Alexander McLean, E. H. Lawrence, and Charles 
Darling. In a notebook I find recorded also the 



234 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



names of some of the first subscribers to the 
new Tabernacle. They were the real builders. 
Wechsler and Abraham were among the first 
to contribute $100, " Texas Siftings " through 
J. Amory Knox sent $25, and 44 Judge " for- 
warded a cheque for the same amount, with the 
declaration that all other periodicals in the United 
States ought to go and do likewise. A. E. Coates 
sent $200, E. M. Knox $200, A. J. Nutting $100, 
Benjamin L. Fairchild $100, Joseph E. Carson 
$100, Haviland and Sons $25, Francis H. Stuart, 
M.D., $25, Giles F. Bushnell $25, and Pauline E. 
Martin $25. 

Even the small children, the poor, the aged, 
sent in their dollars. About one thousand dollars 
was contributed the first day. Everything was 
done by the trustees and the people, to expedite 
the plans of the New Tabernacle so that in two 
weeks from the date of the fire I broke ground 
for what was to be the largest church in the world 
of a Protestant denomination, on the corner of 
Clinton and Greene Avenues. That afternoon of 
October 28, 1889, when I stood in the enclosure 
arranged for me, and consecrated the ground to 
the word of God, was another moment of supreme 
joy to me. It was said that those who witnessed 
the ceremony were impressed with the importance 
of it in the course of my own life and in the history 
of Christianity. To me it was akin to those preg- 
nant hours of my life through which I had passed 
in great exaltation of spiritual fervour. 

My words of consecration were brief, as follows : 

44 May the Lord God of Abraham, and Isaac, 
and Jacob, and Joshua, and Paul, and John 
Knox, and John Wesley, and Hugh Latimer, and 
Bishop Mcllvaine take possession of this ground 
and all that shall be built upon it." 

Before me was a vision of that church, its Gothic 



THE HOLY LAND 



235 



arches, its splendour of stained-glass windows, its 
spires and gables, and, as I saw this our third 
Tabernacle rise up before me, I prayed that its 
windows might look out into the next world as 
well as this. I was glad that I had waited to turn 
that bit of God-like earth on the old Marshall 
homestead in Brooklyn, for it filled my heart with 
a spiritual promise and potency that was an 
invisible cord binding me during my pilgrimage 
to Jordan with my congregation which I had left 
behind. 

With Mrs. Talmage and my daughter, May 
Talmage, I sailed on the " City of Paris," on 
October 30, 1889, to complete the plan I had 
dreamed of for years. I had been reverently 
anxious to actually see the places associated with 
our Lord's life and death. I wanted to see 
Bethlehem and Nazareth, and Jerusalem and 
Calvary, so intimately connected with the minis- 
try of our Saviour. I had arranged to write a 
Life of Christ, and this trip was imperative. 
In that book is the complete record of this 
journey, therefore I feel that other things that 
have not been told deserve the space here that 
would otherwise belong to my recollections of the 
Holy Land. It was reported that while in 
Jerusalem I made an effort to purchase Calvary 
and the tomb of our Saviour, so as to present it 
to the Christian Church at large. I was so im- 
pressed with the fact that part of this sacred 
ground was being used as a Mohammedan ceme- 
tery that I was inspired to buy it in token of 
respect to all Christendom. Of course this led to 
much criticism, but that has never stopped my 
convictions. I was away for two months, returning 
in February, 1890. 

During my absence our Sunday services were 
conducted by the most talented preachers we 



236 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



could secure. With the exception of a few days' 
influenza while I was in Paris, in January, just 
prior to my return, the trip was a glorious 
success. According to the editorial opinion of 
one newspaper I had 6 6 discovered a new Adam 
that was to prove a puissant ally in his future 
struggles with the old Adam." This was not 
meant to be friendly, but I prefer to believe that 
it was so after all. In England I was promised, 
if I would take up a month's preaching tour there, 
that the English people would subscribe five 
thousand pounds to the new Tabernacle. These 
and other invitations were tempting, but I could 
not alter my itinerary. 

While in England I received an invitation from 
Mr. Gladstone to visit him at Hawarden. He 
wired me, " pray come to Hawarden to-morrow," 
and on January 24, 1890, I paid my visit. I was 
staying at the Grand Hotel in London when 
the telegram was handed to me. With the 
rest of the world, at that time, I regarded Mr. 
Gladstone as the most wonderful man of the 
century. 

He came into the room at Hawarden where I 
was waiting for him, an alert, eager, kindly man. 
He was not the grand old man in spirit, whatever 
he may have been in age. He was lithe of body, 
his step was elastic. He held out both his hands 
in a cordial welcome. He spoke first of the wide 
publication of my sermons in England, and 
questioned me about them. In a few minutes 
he proposed a walk, and calling his dog we started 
out for what was in fact a run over his estate. 
Gladstone was the only man I ever met who 
walked fast enough for me. Over the hills, 
through his magnificent park, everywhere he 
pointed out the stumps of trees which he had cut 
down. Once a guest of his, an English lord, had 



MY VISIT TO MR. GLADSTONE 237 



died emulating Gladstone's strenuous custom. 
He showed me the place. 

" No man who has heart disease ought to use 
the axe," he said ; " that very stump is the place 
where my friend used it, and died." 

He rallied the American tendency to exaggerate 
things in a story he told with great glee, about a 
fabulous tree in California, where two men 
cutting at it on opposite sides for many days 
were entirely oblivious of each other's presence. 
Each one believed himself to be a lone woodsman 
in the forest until, after a long time, they met 
with surprise at the heart of the tree. American 
stories seemed to tickle him immensely. He told 
another kindred one of a fish in American lakes, 
so large that when it was taken out of the water 
the lake was perceptibly lowered. He grew 
buoyant, breezy, fanciful in the brisk winter air. 
Like his dog, he was tingling with life. He liked 
to throw sticks for him, to see him jump and run. 

" Look at that dog's eyes, isn't he a fine fellow?" 
he kept asking. His knowledge of the trees on 
his estate was historical. He knew their lineage 
and characteristics from the date of their sapling 
age, four or five hundred years before. The old 
and decrepit aristocrats of his forest were ten- 
derly bandaged, their arms in splints. 

" Look at that sycamore," he said ; " did you 
find in the Holy Land any more thrifty than that ? 
You know sometimes I am described as destroying 
my trees. I only destroy the bad to help the 
good. Since I have thrown my park open to 
visitors the privilege has never been abused." 

We drifted upon all subjects, rational, political, 
religious, ethical. 

" Divorce in your country, is it not a menace ? " 
he asked. 

" The great danger is re-marriage. It should 



238 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



be forbidden for divorced persons. I understand 
that in your State of South Carolina there is no 
divorce. I believe that is the right idea. If re- 
marriage were impossible then divorce would be 
impossible," he replied to his own question. 

Gladstone's religious instinct was prophetic in 
its grasp. His intellectual approval of religious 
intention was the test of his faith. He applied 
to the exaltations of Christianity the reason of 
human fact. I was forcibly impressed with this 
when he told me of an incident in his boyhood. 

" I read something in ' Augustine ' when I was 
a boy," he said, " which struck me then with great 
force. I still feel it to-day. It was the passage 
which says, 6 When the human race rebelled 
against God, the lower nature of man as a con- 
sequence rebelled against the higher nature.' " 

I asked him then if the years had strengthened 
or weakened his Christian faith. We were racing 
up hill. He stopped suddenly on the hillside and 
regarded me with a searching earnestness, a 
solemnity that made me quake. Then he spoke 
slowly, more seriously : 

" Dr. Talmage, my only hope for the world is 
in the bringing of the human mind into contact 
with divine revelation. Nearly all the men at 
the top in our country are believers in the 
Christian religion. The four leading physicians of 
England are devout Christian men. I, myself, have 
been in the Cabinet forty-seven years, and during 
all that time I have been associated with sixty 
of the chief intellects of the century. I can think 
of but five of those sixty who did not profess the 
Christian religion, but those five men respected 
it. We may talk about questions of the day here 
and there, but there is only one question, and that 
is T how to apply the Gospel to all circumstances 
and conditions* It can and will correct all that 



THE GRAND OLD MAN 239 



is wrong. Have you, in America, any of the 
terrible agnosticism that we have in Europe ? 
I am glad none of my children are afflicted with 
it." 

I asked him if he did not believe that many 
people had no religion in their heads, but a good 
religion in their hearts. 

" I have no doubt of it, and I can give you an 
illustration," he said. 

" Yesterday, Lord Napier was buried in St. 
Paul's Cathedral. After the war in Africa Lord 
Napier was here for a few days, at the invitation 
of Mrs. Gladstone and myself, and we walked as 
we are walking now. He told me this story. I 
cannot remember his exact words. He said that 
just when the troops were about to leave Africa 
there was a soldier with a broken leg. He was 
too sick to take along, but to leave him behind 
seemed barbaric. Lord Napier ordered him to be 
carried, but he soon became too ill to go any 
further. Lord Napier went to a native woman 
well known in that country for her kindness, and 
asked her to take care of the soldier. To ensure 
his care she was offered a good sum of money. I 
remember her reply as Lord Napier repeated it 
to me. 4 No, I will not take care of this wounded 
soldier for the money you offer me,' she said ; 4 I 
have no need of the money. My father and mother 
have a comfortable tent, and I have a good tent ; 
why should I take the money ? If you will leave 
him here I will take care of him for the sake of 
the love of God.' " 

Gladstone was in the thick of political scrim- 
mage over Home Rule, and he talked about it 
with me. 

" It seems the dispensation of God that I should 
be in the battle," he said ; " but it is not to my 
taste. I never had any option in the matter. I 



240 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



dislike contests, but I could not decline this con- 
troversy without disgrace. When Ireland showed 
herself ready to adopt a righteous constitution, 
and do her full duty, I hesitated not an hour." 

Two nights before, at a speech in Chester, Mr. 
Gladstone had declared that the increase of the 
American navy would necessitate the increase of 
the British navy. I rallied him about this state- 
ment, and he said, " Oh ! Americans like to hear 
the plain truth. The fact is, the tie between the 
two nations is growing closer every year." 

It was a bitter cold day and yet Mr. Gladstone 
wore only a very light cape, reaching scarcely to 
his knees. 

" I need nothing more on me," he said ; 44 1 
must have my legs free." 

After luncheon he took me into his library, a 
wonderful place, a treasure-house in itself, a 
bookman's palace. The books had been arranged 
and catalogued according to a system of his own 
invention. He showed many presents of Ameri- 
can books and pictures sent to him. 

" Outside of America there is no one who is 
bound to love it more than I do," he said, " you 
see, I am almost surrounded by the evidences of 
American kindnesses." He gave me some books 
and pamphlets about himself, and his own Greek 
translation of "Jesus, Lover of my Soul." Mrs. 
Gladstone had been obliged to leave before we 
returned from our walk. Mr. Gladstone took me 
into a room, however, and showed me a beautiful 
sculptured portrait of her, made when she was 
twenty-two. 

" She is only two years younger than I am, but 
in complete health and vigour," he said proudly. 

He came out upon the steps to bid me good-bye. 
Bareheaded, his white hair flowing in the wind, 
he stood in the cold and I begged him to go in. 



MY HOME-COMING 241 



I expressed a wish that he might come to America. 

" I am too old now," he said, wistfully, I thought. 

4 6 Is it the Atlantic you object to ? " I asked. 

" Oh ! I am not afraid of the ocean," he said, 
as though there were perhaps some other reason. 

" Tell your country I watch every turn of its 
history with a heart of innermost admiration," he 
called after me. I carried Gladstone's message 
at once, going straight from Hawarden to America, 
as I had intended when leaving London. 

I was prepared for a reception in Brooklyn on 
my return, but I never dreamed it would be the 
ovation it was. It becomes difficult to write of these 
personal courtesies, as I find them increasing in 
the progress of my life from now on. I trust the 
casual reader will not construe anything in these 
pages into a boastful desire to spread myself in 
too large letters in print. 

When I entered the Thirteenth Regiment 
Armoury on the evening of February 7, 1890, it 
was packed from top to floor. It was a large 
building with its three acres of drill floor and its 
half mile of galleries. There were over seven 
thousand people there, so the newspapers esti- 
mated. Against the east wall was the speaker's 
platform, and over it in big letters of fire burned 
the word " Welcome." 

On the stage, when I arrived at eight o'clock, 
were Mayor Chapin, Colonel Austen, General 
Alfred C. Barnes, the Rev. J. Benson Hamilton, 
Judge Clement, Mr. Andrew McLean, the Rev. 
Leon Harrison, ex-Mayor Whitney, the Hon. 
David A. Boody, U.S. Marshal Stafford, Judge 
Courtney, Postmaster Hendrix, John Y. Culver, 
Mark D. Wilber, Commissioner George V. Brower, 
the Rev. E. P. Terhune, General Horatio C. King, 
William E. Robinson and several others. 

The Trustees of the Tabernacle, like a guard of 



242 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



honour, came in with me, and as we made our way 
through the crowds to the stage, the long-continued 
cheering and applause were deafening. The band, 
assisted by the cornetist, Peter Ali, played 
" Home, Sweet Home." For a few minutes I was 
very busy shaking hands. 

The most inspiring moment of these prelimi- 
naries was the approach of the most distinguished 
man in that vast assembly, General William T. 
Sherman. He marched to the platform v under 
military escort, while the band played " Marching 
through Georgia." Everyone stood up in def- 
erence to the old warrior, handkerchiefs were 
waved, hats flew up in the air, everyone was so 
proud of him, so pleased to see him! Mayor 
Chapin introduced the General, and as he stood 
patiently waiting for the audience to regain its 
self-control, the band played " Auld Lang Syne." 
Then in the presence of that great crowd he gave 
me a soldier's welcome. I remember one sentence 
uttered by Sherman that night that revealed the 
character of the great fighter when he said, 
" The same God that appeared at Nazareth is 
here to-night." 

But nothing on that auspicious evening was so 
great to me as when Sherman spoke what he 
described as the soldier's welcome : 

"How are you, old fellow, glad to see you! " he said. 

The building of the new Tabernacle, my third 
effort to establish an independent church in 
Brooklyn, went on rapidly. We were planning 
then to open it in September, 1891. The church 
building alone was to cost $150,000. Its archi- 
tectural beauty was in accord with the elegance 
of its fashionable neighbourhood on " The Hill," 
as that residential part of Brooklyn was always 
described. 

" The Hill " was unique. When people in 



"SLEEPY HOLLOW" 243 



Brooklyn became tired of the rush and bustle of 
life they returned to Clinton Avenue. It was 
an idyllic village in the heart of the city. The 
front yards were as large as farms. New Yorkers 
described this locality as " Sleepy Hollow." On 
this account, during my absence, there had 
developed in the neighbourhood some opposition 
to the building of the new Tabernacle there. 
Some of the residents were afraid it would disturb 
the quiet of the neighbourhood. They opposed it 
as they would a base ball park, or a circus. They 
were afraid the organ would annoy the sparrows. 
The opposition went so far that a subscription 
paper was passed around to induce us to go away. 
As much as $15,000 was raised to persuade us. 
These objections, however, were confined to a few 
people, the majority realising the adornment 
the new church would be to the neighbourhood. 
When I returned I found that this opposing 
sentiment had described us as " the Tabernacle 
Rabble." I was in splendid health and spirits 
however, and refused to be downcast. 

During my absence our pews had been rented, 
realising $18,000. The largest portion of these 
pews were rented by letter, and the balance at a 
public meeting held in Temple Israel. The second 
gallery of the church was free. The highest price 
paid in the rental for one pew for a year was $75, 
the lowest was $20. In the interval, pending the 
completion of the church, pew holders were given 
tickets for reserved seats in the Academy of 
Music, where our Sunday services were held. 
There were 1,500 free seats in the second gallery 
of the new Tabernacle. 

It was a great joy to find that the enterprise I 
had inaugurated before sailing for the Holy 
Land had made such good progress. But we 
were always fortunate. 



244 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



I recall that my congregation was surprised 
one morning to learn that Emma Abbott, the 
beautiful American singer, had left a bequest of 
$5,000 to the Brooklyn Tabernacle. I was not 
surprised. I had received a private note from her 
once expressing her kindly feeling toward our 
Church and promising, in the event of her decease, 
to leave some remembrance to us. She always 
had a presentiment that her life was to be short, 
and this always had a very depressing effect upon 
her. Her grief for her husband's death hastened 
her own. She loved him with all her heart. She 
was a good woman. Mr. Beecher was a kind and 
loyal friend to her in her obscurer days. In those 
days Mr. Beecher brought her over from New 
York and put her in care of a Mrs. Bird in 
Brooklyn. Until she went abroad she was helped 
in her musical education by these friends. She 
attended Mr. Beecher's prayer meetings regularly. 
Everyone who met her felt that she was a noble- 
hearted woman of pure character and sweet soul. 

On February 9, 1890, 1 preached my first sermon 
since my return from the Holy Land in the 
Academy of Music. It was expected that I would 
preach about the country of sacred memories 
that I had visited, but I was impressed with what 
I had found on my return in religious history of 
a more modern purpose. They had been fixing 
up the creeds while I was abroad, tracing the 
footsteps of divine law, and I felt the importance 
of this fact. So I chose the text in Joshua vi. 23, 
" And the young men that were spies went in 
and brought out Rahab, and her father and her 
mother, and her brethren, and all that she had." 

I did not read the newspapers while I was away 
so I was not familiar with all the discussion. I 
understood, however, that they were revising the 
creed. You might as well try to patch up your 



THE CORNER STONE 



245 



grandfather V overcoat. It will^be much better 
to get a new one. The recent sessions of the 
Presbytery had been divided into two parties. One 
was in favour of patching up the old overcoat, 
the other in favour of a new one. Dr. Briggs had 
pointed out the torn places — at least five of them. 
He had revealed it, shabby and somewhat thread- 
bare. Presbyterians had practically discarded 
the garment. Why should they want to flaunt 
any of its shreds ? So I agreed with Dr. Briggs, 
that we had better get a new one. 

The laying of the corner stone of the new 
Tabernacle took place on the afternoon of 
February 11, 1890. It was a modest ceremony 
because it was considered wise to defer the 
festivities for the dedication services that were 
to occur in the church itself in the spring. The 
two tin boxes placed in the corner stone contained 
the records of the church organisation from 1854 
to 1873, a copy of the Bible, coins of 1873, news- 
paper accounts of the dedication of the old 
Tabernacle, copies of the Brooklyn and New York 
newspapers, photographs of the trustees, a 25- 
cent gold piece from the Philadelphia mint with 
the Lord's Prayer engraved on one side, drawing 
and plans of the new Tabernacle, and some 
Colonial money dated 1759, 1771, 1773, 1774. 
During my trip in the Holy Land I had secured 
two stones, one from Mount Calvary and one 
from Mount Sinai, which were to be placed in the 
Tabernacle later. 

The " Tabernacle Rabble," as the Philistines 
of Clinton Avenue called us, continued to meet 
in the Academy of Music with renewed vigour. 
My own duties became more exacting because 
of the additional work I had undertaken, of an 
editorial nature, on two periodicals. 

Of course my critics were always with me. 



246 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



What man or thing on earth is without these 
stimulants of one's energy. They were fair and 
unfair. I did not care so much for my serious 
critics as my humorous ones. Solemnity when 
sustained by malice or bigotry is a bore. Some 
call it hypocrisy, but that is too clever for the 
tiresome critic. Frequently, in my scrap book, I 
kept the funny comments about myself. 

Here is one from the " Chicago American," 
published in 1890 : — 

When Talmage the terrible shouts his " God-speed " 

To illit'rate (and worse) immigration, 
Who knows but his far-seeing mind feels a need 

Of recruits for his mix'd congregation ? 
And when he, self-made gateman of Heaven, says he's glad 

To rake in, on his free invitation, 
The fit and the unfit, the good and the bad, 

Put it down to his tall-'mag-ination. — Pan. 

My critics were particularly wrought up again 
on my return from Palestine over my finances. 
What a crime it was, they said, for a minister to be 
a millionaire ! Had I really been one how much 
more I could have helped some of them along. 
Finally the subject became most wearisome, and 
I gave out some actual facts. From this data it 
was revealed that I was worth about $200,000, con- 
siderably short of one million. In actual cash it was 
finally declared that I was only worth $100,000. 
My house in Brooklyn, which I bought shortly 
after my pastorate began there, cost $35,000. I 
paid $5,000 cash, and obtained easy terms on a 
mortgage for the balance. It was worth $60,000 
in 1890. My country residence at East Hampton 
was estimated to be worth $20,000. I owned a 
few lots on the old Coney Island road. My in- 
vestments of any surplus funds I had were in 
5 per cent, mortgages. I had as much as $80,000 



WHAT HAPPENED 247 



invested in this way since I had begun these 
operations in 1882. Most of the mortgages were 
on private residences. I mention these facts 
that there may be no jealous feeling against me 
among other millionaires. Because of my reputa- 
tion for wealth I was sometimes included among 
New York's fashionable clergymen. I deny that 
I was ever any such thing, and I almost believe 
such a thing never was, but I find, in my scrap- 
book, a contemporaneous list of them. 

Dr. Morgan Dix, of Trinity Church, with a 
salary of $15,000, heads the list, Dr. Brown of St. 
Thomas' Church, received the same amount ; so 
did Dr. Huntington of Grace Church, and Dr. 
Greer of St. Bartholomew's. The Bishop of the 
diocese received no more. Dr. Rainsford of St. 
George's Church received $10,000, and like Dr. 
Greer, possessing a private fortune, he turned 
his salary over to the church. The clergymen 
of the Methodist Episcopal churches were not so 
rich. The Bishop of New York received only 
$5,000. The pastor of St. Paul's, on Fourth 
Avenue, received the same amount, so did the 
pastor of the Madison Avenue Church. 

The Presbyterian pulpits were filled with some 
of the ablest preachers in New York. Dr. John 
Hall of the Fifth Avenue Church received the 
salary of $30,000, Dr. Paxton $10,000, Dr. Park- 
hurst and Dr. C. C. Thompson $8,000 respec- 
tively. Dr. Robert Colly er of the Park Avenue 
Unitarian Church, received $10,000, and Dr. 
William M. Taylor of the Broadway Tabernacle 
the same amount. 

I was included among these " men of fashion," 
much to my surprise. This fact, forced upon me 
by contemporary opinion, did not have anything 
to do with what happened in the spring of 1891, 
though it was applied in that way. My congre- 



248 THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE 



gation were not told about it until it was too late 
to interfere. This I thought wise because there 
might have been some opposition to my course. 
I kept it a secret because it was not a matter I 
could discuss with any dignity. Then, too, I 
realised that it was going to affect the entire 
brotherhood of newspaper artists, especially the 
cartoonists. I shuddered when I thought of the 
embarrassment this act of mine would cause the 
country editor with only one Talmage woodcut 
of many years in his art department. So I did 
it quietly, without consultation. 

In the spring of 1891 I shaved my whiskers. 



THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



1891—1892 

On April 26, 1891, the new Tabernacle was 
opened. There were three dedication services 
and thousands of people came. I was fifty-nine 
years of age. Up to this time everything had been 
extraordinary in its conflict, its warnings. I 
found myself, after over thirty years of service 
to the Gospel, pastor of the biggest Protestant 
church in the world. It seems to me there were 
more men of indomitable success during my career 
in America than at any other time. There were 
so many self-made men, so many who compelled 
the world to listen, and feel and do as they be- 
lieved — men of remarkable energy, of prophetic 
genius. 

Everywhere in England I had been asked about 
Cyrus W. Field. He was the hero of the nine- 
teenth century. In his days of sickness and 
trouble the world remembered him. Of all the 
population of the earth he was the one man who 
believed that a wire could be strung across the 
Atlantic. It took him twelve years of incessant 
toil and fifty voyages across the Atlantic. I 
remember well, in 1857, when the cable broke, 
how everyone joined in the great chorus of " I 
told you so." There was a great jubilee in that 
choral society of wise know-nothings. Thirty 

249 



250 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



times the grapnel searched the bottom of the sea 
and finally caught the broken cable, and the pluck 
and ingenuity of Cyrus W. Field was celebrated. 
Ocean cablegrams had ceased to be a curiosity, 
but some of us remember the day when they were. 
I kept a memorandum of the two first messages 
across the Atlantic that passed between Queen 
Victoria and President Buchanan in the summer 
of 1858. 

From England, in the Queen's name, came this : 
44 To the President of the United States, 
Washington — 

44 The Queen desires to congratulate the Presi- 
dent upon the successful completion of this great 
international work, in which the Queen has taken 
the deepest interest. The Queen is convinced that 
the President will join with her in fervently 
hoping that the electric cable which now connects 
Great Britain with the United States will prove 
an additional link between the nations whose 
friendship is founded upon their common interest 
and reciprocal esteem. The Queen has much 
pleasure in thus communicating with the Presi- 
dent and renewing to him her wishes for the 
prosperity of the United States." 

The President's answering cable was as follows : 
44 To Her Majesty Victoria, Queen of Great 
Britain — 

44 The President cordially reciprocates the con- 
gratulations of Her Majesty the Queen on the 
success of the great international enterprise 
accomplished by the science, skill, and indomitable 
energy of the two countries. It is a triumph more 
glorious than was ever won by any conquest on 
the field of battle. May the iitlantic telegraph, 
under the blessing of Heaven, prove to be a bond 
of perpetual peace and friendship between the 
kindred nations and an instrument designed by 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 251 



Divine Providence to diffuse religion, civilisation, 
liberty and law throughout the world. In this 
view will not all nations of Christendom spon- 
taneously unite in the declaration that it shall be 
forever neutral, and that its communications 
shall be held sacred in passing to their destination, 
even in the midst of hostilities. 

" James Buchanan." 

It is interesting to compare the elemental 
quality, the inner character of these national 
flashes of feeling, that came so comparatively 
soon after the days of the revolution in America. 
It was a sort of prose poetry of the new century. 
This recollection came back to me, on my return 
from Europe, upon the opening of the new 
Tabernacle, a symbol of the eternal human pro- 
gress of the world. Materially and spiritually we 
were striving ahead, men of affairs, men of reli- 
gion, philosophers, scientists, and poets. 

I was present in 1891 at the celebration of 
Whittier's eighty-fourth birthday. He was on 
the bright side of eighty then. The schools 
celebrated the day, so should the churches have 
done, for he was a Christian poet. 

John Greenleaf Whittier was a Quaker. That 
means that he was a genial, kind, good man — a 
simple man. I spent an afternoon with him once 
in a barn. We were summering in the mountains 
near by. We found ourselves in the barn, where 
we stretched out on the hay. The world had not 
spoiled the simplicity of his nature. It was an 
afternoon of pastoral peace, with one who had 
written himself into the heart of a nation. How 
much I learned from that man's childlikeness and 
simplicity ! 

If he had lived to be a hundred he would still 
have remained young. The long flight of years had 



252 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



not tired his spirit, for wherever the English 
language is spoken he will always live. He was 
born in Christmas week, a spirit in human shape, 
come to earth to keep it forever young. He was the 
bell-ringer of all youthful ages. And yet he remem- 
bered also those who for any reason could not 
join in the merriment of the holidays. To those 
I recommend Whittier's poem, in which he 
celebrates the rescue of two Quakers who had 
been fined f 10 for attending church instead of 
going to a Quaker Meeting House, and not being 
able to pay the fine were first imprisoned and 
then sold as slaves, but no ship master consenting 
to carry them into slavery they were liberated. 
The closing stanza of this poem is worth remem- 
bering : — 

" Now, let the humble ones arise, 

The poor in heart be glad, 
And let the mourning ones again 

With robes of praise be clad ; 
For He who cooled the furnace, 

And smoothed the stormy wave, 
And turned the Chaldean lions, 

Is mighty still to save." 

The new Tabernacle more than met our ex- 
pectations. From the day we opened it, it was a 
great blessing. It seated 6,000 persons, and when 
crowded held 7,000. There was still some debt 
on the building, for the entire enterprise had cost 
us about $400,000. There were regrets expressed 
that we did not follow the elaborate custom of 
some fashionable churches in these days and 
introduce into our services operatic music. I 
preferred the simple form of sacred music — a 
cornet and organ. Everybody should get his 
call from God, and do his work in his own way. 
I never had any sympathy with dogmatics. There 
is no church on earth in which there is more 




THE THIRD BROOKLYN TABERNACLE. 



WILLIAM E. ROBINSON 253 



freedom of utterance than in the Presbyterian 
church. 

We were in the midst of a religious conflict on 
many sacred questions in 1892. There came 
upon us a plague called Higher Criticism. My 
idea of it was that Higher Criticism meant lower 
religion. The Bible seemed to me entirely satis- 
factory. The chief hindrance to the Gospel was 
this everlasting picking at the Bible by people 
who pretended tojbe its friends, but who themselves 
had never been converted. The Higher Criticism 
was only a flurry. The world started as a garden 
and it will close as a garden. That there may be 
no false impression of the sublime destiny of the 
world as I see it, let me add that it is not a garden 
of idleness and pleasure, but a vineyard in which 
all must labour from early morning till the glory 
of sundown wraps us in its revival robes of golden 
splendour. 

What a changing, hurrying world of desperate 
means it is. What a mirage of towering ambi- 
tion is the whole of life ! I have so often wondered 
why men, great men of heart and brain, should 
ever die out, though they pass on to live forever 
under brighter skies. 

In January, 1892, Congressman William E. 
Robinson was buried from our church, and in 
February of the same month Spurgeon died in 
England. Though men may live at swords' 
points with each other they die in peace. This 
last forgetfulness is some of the beautiful 
moss that grows on the ruins of poor human 
nature. 

Congressman Robinson was among the gifted 
men of his time. His friends were giants, his 
work was constructive, his pen an instrument of 
literary force. He landed in America with less 
than a sovereign in his pocket, and achieved 



254 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



prominence in national and State affairs. I knew 
him well and respected him. 

There is an affinity of souls on earth and doubt- 
less in heaven. We seek those who are our 
kindred souls when we reach there. In this 
respect I always feel a sense of gratitude, of 
cheerfulness for those who have passed on. My 
old friend, Charles H. Spurgeon, in February, 
1892, made his last journey ; and I am sure that 
the first whom he picked out in heaven were the 
souls of Jonathan Edwards and John Calvin — 
two men of tremendous evangelism. I first met 
Spurgeon in London in 1872. 

" I read your sermons," I said to him first. 

" Everybody reads yours," he replied. 

Spurgeon made a long battle against disease ; 
the last few months in agony. His name is on 
the honour roll of the world's history, but for 
many years he was caricatured and assailed. He 
kept a scrap-book of the printed blasphemy 
against him. The first picture I ever saw of him 
represented him as sliding down the railing of his 
pulpit in the presence of his congregation, to show 
how easy it was to go to hell, and then climbing 
up on the opposite railing to show how difficult it 
was to get to heaven. Most people at the time 
actually believed that he had done this. 

In this same month Dr. Mackenzie, the famous 
physician, died, and my old friend, the Rev. Dr. 
Hanna of Belfast, the leading Protestant minister 
of Ireland. Out of the darkness into the light; 
out of the struggle into victory ; out of earth 
into Heaven ! 

There was always mercy on earth, however, for 
those who remained. Mercy ! The biggest word 
in the human language! I remember how it im- 
pressed me, when, at the invitation of Dr. Leslie 
Keeley, the inventor of the " Gold Cure " for 



THE TARIFF QUESTION 255 



drunkenness, I visited his institution at Dwight, 
111. It was a new thing then and a most merciful 
miracle of the age. It settled no question, 
perhaps, but intensified the blessings of reformed 
thought. 

There were questions that could not be solved, 
however, questions of industrial moment that we 
almost despaired of. The tariff was one of them. 
I felt convinced that the tariff question would 
never be settled. The grandchildren of every 
generation will always be discussing it, and thresh 
out the same old straw which the Democrats and 
Republicans were discussing before them. When 
I was a boy only eight years old the tariff was 
discussed just as warmly as it will ever be. Like 
my friend Henry Watterson, of Kentucky, I was 
a Free Trader. Politics were so mixed up it was 
difficult to see ahead. Cleveland was after Hill 
and Hill was after Cleveland ; that alone was clear 
to everybody. 

For my own satisfaction, in the spring of 1892, 
I went to see what Washington was really doing, 
thinking, living. It had improved morally and 
politically, its streets were still the trail of the 
mighty. A great change had taken place there. 

A higher type of men had taken possession of 
our national halls. Duelling, once common, was 
entirely abolished, and a Senator who would 
challenge a fellow-member to fight would make 
himself a laughing-stock. No more clubbing of 
Senators on account of opposite opinions ! Mr. 
Covode of Pennsylvania, no longer brandished a 
weapon over the head of Mr. Barksdale of Missis- 
sippi. Grow and Keitt no more took each other by 
the throat. Griswold no more pounded Lyon, 
Lyon snatching the tongs and striking back until 
the two members in a scuffle rolled on the floor of 
the great American Congress. One of the Senators 



256 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



of twenty-five years ago died in Flatbush Hospital, 
idiotic from his dissipations. One member of 
Congress I saw years ago seated drunk on the 
curbstone in Philadelphia, his wife trying to coax 
him home. A Senator from New York many 
years ago on a cold day was picked out of the 
Potomac, into which he had dropped through his 
intoxication, the only time that he ever came so 
near losing his life by too much cold water. Talk 
not about the good old days, for the new days in 
Washington were far better. There was John 
Sherman of the Senate, a moral, high-minded, 
patriotic and talented man. I said to him as I 
looked up into his face : "How tall are you ? " and 
his answer was, " Six feet one inch and a half; " 
and I thought to myself " You are a tall man 
every way, with mental stature over-towering 
like the physical." There was Senator Daniel of 
Virginia, magnetic to the last degree, and when 
he spoke all were thrilled while they listened. 
Fifteen years ago, at Lynchburg, Va., I said to 
him : " The next time I see you, I will see you 
in the United States Senate." " No, no," he 
replied, " I am not on the winning side. I am 
too positive in my opinions." I greeted him amid 
the marble walls of the Senate with the words 
44 Didn't I tell you so ? " 44 Yes," he said, 44 1 
remember your prophecy." There also were 
Senators r Colquitt and Gordon of Georgia, at 
home whether in secular or religious assemblages, 
pronounced Christian gentlemen, and both of 
them tremendous in utterance. There was Senator 
Carey of Wyoming, who was a boy in my church 
debating-society at f Philadelphia, his speech at 
eighteen years demonstrating that nothing in 
the way of grand achievement would be impossi- 
ble. There was Senator Manderson of Nebraska, 
his father and mother among my chief supporters 



BENJAMIN HARRISON 257 



in Philadelphia, the Senator walking about as 
though he cared nothing about the bullets which he 
had carried ever since the Avar, of which he was one 
of the heroes. Brooklyn was proud of her Con- 
gressmen. I heard our representative, Mr. Coombs, 
speak, and whether his hearers agreed or dis- 
agreed with his sentiments on the tariff question, 
all realised that he knew what he was talking 
about, and his easy delivery and point-blank 
manner of statement were impressive. So, also, 
at the White House, whether people liked the 
Administration or disliked it, all reasonable 
persons agreed that good morals presided over 
the nation, and that well-worn jest about the 
big hat of the grandfather, President William 
Henry Harrison, being too ample for the grand- 
son, President Benjamin Harrison, was a witticism 
that would soon be folded up and put out of sight. 
Anybody who had carefully read the 120 ad- 
dresses delivered by President Benjamin Harrison 
on his tour across the continent knew that he had 
three times the brain ever shown by his grand- 
father. Great men, I noticed at Washington, 
were great only a little while. The men I saw 
there in high places fifteen years ago had nearly 
all gone. One venerable man, seated in the 
Senate near the Vice-President's chair, had been 
there since he was introduced as a page at 10 
years of age by Daniel Webster. But a few years 
change the most of the occupants of high positions. 
How rapidly the wheel turns. Call the roll of 
Jefferson's Cabinet ? Dead ! Call the roll of 
Madison's Cabinet ? Dead ! Call the roll of 
Monroe's Cabinet ? Dead ! Call the roll of Pierce's 
Cabinet ? Dead ! Call the roll of Abraham 
Lincoln's Cabinet ? Dead ! The Congressional 
burying ground in the city of Washington had 
then 170 cenotaphs raised in honour of members. 

s 



258 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



While I was in Chicago, in the spring of 1892, 
there came about an almost national discussion 
as to whether the World's Fair should be kept 
open on Sunday. Nearly all the ministers fore- 
saw empty churches if the fair were kept open. 

In spite of the personal malice against me of 
one of the great editors of New York, the people 
did not seem to lose their confidence in the Chris- 
tian spirit. Both Dr. Parkhurst and myself were 
the targets of this brilliant man's sarcasm and 
satire at this time, but neither of us were demoral- 
ised or injured in the course of our separate ways 
of duty. 

In the summer of 1892 the working plans of 
what the newspapers generously called my 
vacation took me to Europe on a tour of Great 
Britain and Ireland, including a visit to Russia, 
to await the arrival of a ship -load of food sent 
by the religious weekly of which I was editor. 
Some criticism was made of the way I worked 
instead of rested in vacation time. 

Someone asked me if I believed in dreams. I 
said, no ; I believed in sleep, but not in dreams. 
The Lord, in olden times, revealed Himself in 
dreams, but I do not think He does so often now. 
When I was at school we parsed from " Young's 
Night Thoughts," but I had no very pleasant 
memories of that book. I had noticed that 
dreamers are often the prey of consumption. 
It seems to have a fondness for exquisite natures 
— dreamy, spiritual, a foe [of the finest part of 
the human family. There was Henry Kirke 
White, the author of that famous hymn, " When 
Marshalled on the Nightly Plains," who, dying 
of consumption, wrote it with two feet in the 
grave, and recited it with power when he could 
not move from his chair. 

We sailed on the " New York," June 15, 1892, 



A PREACHING TOUR IN ENGLAND 259 



for Europe. This preaching tour in England was 
urged upon me by ties of friendship, made years 
before, by the increased audiences I had already 
gained through my public sermons, and of my 
own hearty desire to see them all face to face. 
My first sermon in London was given on June 25, 
1892, in the City Temple, by invitation of that 
great English preacher, Dr. Joseph Parker. When 
my sermon was over, Dr. Parker^said to his con- 
gregation : — 

" I thank God for Dr. Talmage's life and 
ministry, and I despise the man who cannot 
appreciate his services to Christianity. May he 
preach in this pulpit again!" 

On leaving his church I was obliged to address 
the crowd outside from my carriage. Nothing 
can be so gratifying to a preacher as the faith of 
the people he addresses in his faith. In England 
the religious spirit is deeply rooted. I could not 
help feeling, as I saw that surging mass of men 
and women outside the City Temple in London 
after the service, how earnest they all were in 
their exertions to hear the Gospel. In my own 
country I had been used to crowds that were more 
curious in their attitude, less reverent of the 
occasion. Dr. Parker's description of the sermon 
after it was over expressed the effect of my Gospel 
message upon that crowd in England. 

He said : " That is the most sublime, pathetic 
and impressive appeal we ever listened to. It 
has kindled the fire of enthusiasm in our souls 
that will burn on for ever. It has unfolded possi- 
bilities of the pulpit never before reached. 
It has stirred all hearts with the holiest 
ambition." 

So should every sermon, preached in every 
place in the world on (every Sunday in the world, 
be a message from God and His angels ! 



260 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



The sustaining enthusiasm of my friend, Dr. 
Parker, and his people at the City Temple, pre- 
ceded me everywhere in England, and established 
a series of experiences in my evangelical work 
that surprised and enthralled me. 

In Nottingham I was told that Albert Hall, 
where I preached, could not hold over 3,000 
people. That number of tickets for my sermon 
were distributed from the different pulpits in the 
city, but hundreds were disappointed and waited 
for me outside afterwards. This was no personal 
tribute to me, but to the English people, to whom 
my Gospel message was of serious import. The 
text I used most during this preaching tour was 
from Daniel xi. 2 : " The people that do know 
their God shall be strong and do exploits." It 
applied to the people of Great Britain and they 
responded and understood. 

In a more concrete fashion I was privileged to 
witness also the tremendous influence of religious 
feeling in England at the banquet tendered by the 
Lord Mayor at the Mansion House on July 3, 
1892, to the Archbishops and Bishops of England. 
The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of 
London, and the diocesan bishops were present. 
The Lord Mayor, in his address, said that the 
association between the Church and the Cor- 
poration of London had been close, long, and 
continuous. In that year, he said, the Church 
had spent on buildings and restorations thirty- 
five million pounds ; on home missions, seven 
and a half millions ; on foreign missions, ten 
millions : on elementary education, twenty-one 
millions; and in charity, six millions. What a 
stupendous evidence of the religious spirit in 
England ! A toast was proposed to the " Minis- 
ters of other Denominations," which included 
the Rev. Dr. Newman Hall and myself of 



JOHN RUSKIN 



261 



America, among other foreign guests. To this 
I responded. 

Before leaving for Russia I met a part of 
the American colony in London at a reception 
given by Mr. Lincoln, our Minister to England. 
We gathered to celebrate the Fourth of July. 
Mrs. Mackey, Mrs. Paran Stevens, Mrs. Bradley 
Martin, and Mrs. Bonynge received among 
others. Phillips Brooks and myself were 
among the clerical contingent, with such 
Americans abroad as Colonel Tom Ochiltree, 
Buffalo Bill, General and Mrs. Williams, 
A. M. Palmer, Mrs. New, the Consul-General's 
wife, Mr. and Mrs. John Collins, Senators 
Farwell and McDonald. 

While travelling in England I saw John Ruskin. 
This fact contains more happiness to me than I 
can easily make people understand. I wanted to 
see him more than any other man, crowned or 
uncrowned. When I was in England at other 
times Mr. Ruskin was always absent or sick, but 
this time I found him. I was visiting the Lake 
district of England, and one afternoon I took a 
drive that will be for ever memorable. I said, 
44 Drive out to Mr. Ruskin's place," which was 
some eight miles away. The landlord from whom 
I got the conveyance said, 44 You will not be able 
to see Mr. Ruskin. No one sees him or has seen 
him for years." Well, I have a way of keeping 
on when I start. After an hour and a half of a 
delightful ride we entered the gates of Mr. 
Ruskin's home. The door of the vine-covered, 
picturesque house was open, and I stood in the 
hall-way. Handing my card to a servant I said, 
" I wish to see Mr. Ruskin." The reply was, 44 Mr. 
Ruskin is not in, and he never sees anyone." 
Disappointed, I turned back, took the carriage 
and went down the road. I said to the driver, 



262 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



" Do you know Mr. Ruskin when you see him ? " 
" Yes," said he ; " but I have not seen him for 
years." We rode on a few moments, then the 
driver cried out to me, " There he comes now." 
In a minute we had arrived at where Mr. Ruskin 
was walking toward us. I alighted, and he 
greeted me with a quiet manner and a genial 
smile. He looked like a great man worn out ; 
beard full and tangled ; soft hat drawn down 
over his forehead ; signs of physical weakness 
with determination not to show it. His valet 
walked beside him ready to help or direct his 
steps. He deprecated any remarks appreciatory 
of his wonderful services. He had the appearance 
of one whose work is completely done, and is 
waiting for the time to start homeward. He 
was in appearance more like myself than any 
person I ever saw, and if I should live to be his age 
the likeness will be complete. 

I did not think then that Mr. Ruskin would 
ever write another paragraph. He would con- 
tinue to saunter along the English lane very 
slowly, his valet by his side, for a year or two, 
and then fold his hands for his last sleep. Then 
the whole world would speak words of gratitude 
and praise which it had denied him all through 
the years in which he was laboriously writing 
" Modern Painters," 44 The Seven Lamps of 
Architecture," 44 The Stones of Venice," and 
44 Ethics of the Dust." We cannot imagine 
what the world's literature would have been if 
Thomas Carlyle and John Ruskin had never 
entered it. I shall never forget how in the early 
years of my ministry I picked up in Wynkoop's 
store, in Syracuse, for the first time, one of 
Ruskin's works. I read that book under the 
trees, because it was the best place to read it. 
Ruskin was the first great interpreter of the 



MY VISIT TO RUSSIA 263 



language of leaves, of clouds, of rivers, of lakes, 
of seas. 

In July, 1892, 1 went to Russia. It was summer 
in the land of snow and ice, so that we saw it in 
the glow of sunny days, in the long gold-tipped 
twilights of balmy air. In America we still re- 
garded Russia as a land of cruel mystery and 
imperial oppression. There was as much ignor- 
ance about the Russians, their Government, their 
country, as there was about the Fiji Islands. 
Americans had been taught that Siberia was 
Russia, that Russia and Siberia were the same, 
one vast infinite waste of misery and cruelty. 
Granted that I went to Russia on an errand of 
mercy, and as a representative of the most power- 
ful nation in the world, nevertheless I contend 
that the Russian people and their Government 
were hugely misrepresented. There was no need 
for the Emperor of Russia to give audience to so 
humble a representative as a minister of the 
Gospel unless he had been sincerely touched by 
the evidence of American generosity and mercy 
for his starving peasants in Central Russia. His 
courtesy and reception of me was a complete 
contradiction of his reported arrogance and hard- 
heart edness. There was no need for the Town 
Council of St. Petersburg to honour myself and 
my party with receptions and dinners, and there 
was no reason for the enthusiasm and cheers of 
the Russian people in the streets unless they were 
intensely kind and enthusiastic in nature. When 
the famine conditions occurred in the ten pro- 
vinces of Russia a relief committee was formed 
in St. Petersburg, with the Grand Duke himself 
at the head of it, and such men as Count Tolstoi 
and Count Bobrinsky in active assistance. 
America answered the appeal for food, but 
their was sincere sympathy and compassion for 



264 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



their compatriots in the imperial circles of 
Russia. 

In the famine districts, which were vast enough 
to hold several nations, a drought that had lasted 
for six consecutive years had devastated the 
country. According to the estimate of the Russian 
Famine Relief Committee we saved the lives of 
125,000 Russians. 

As at the hunger relief stations the bread was 
handed out — for it was made into loaves and 
distributed — many people would halt before 
taking it and religiously cross themselves and 
utter a prayer for the donors. Some of them 
would come staggering back and say : — 

" Please tell us who sent this bread to us ? " 
And when told it came from America, they would 
say • " What part of America ? Please give us 
the names of those who sent it." 

My visit to the Czar of Russia, Alexander III., 
was made at the Imperial Palace. I was ushered 
into a small, very plain apartment, in which I 
found the Emperor seated alone, quietly engaged 
with his official cares. He immediately arose, 
extended his hand with hearty cordiality, and 
said in the purest English, as he himself placed 
a chair for me beside his table, " Doctor Talmage, 
I am very happy to meet you." 

This was the beginning of a long conversation 
during which the Emperor manifested both the 
liveliest interest and thorough familiarity with 
American politics, and, after a lengthy discussion 
of everything American, the Emperor said, " Dr. 
Talmage, you must see my eldest son, Nicholas," 
with which he touched a bell, calling his aide-de- 
camp, who promptly summoned the Grand Duke 
Nicholas, who appeared with the youngest daughter 
of the Emperor skipping along behind him — a 
plump, bright little girl of probably eight or nine 



ALEXANDER III. 265 



years. She jumped upon the Emperor's lap and 
threw her arms about his neck. When she had 
been introduced to me she gave 44 The American 
gentleman " the keenest scrutiny of which her 
sparkling eyes were capable. The Grand Duke 
was a fine young man, of about twenty-five years 
of age, tall, of athletic build, graceful carriage, 
and noticeably amiable features. On being 
introduced to me the Grand Duke extended his 
hand and said, 44 Dr. Talmage, I am also glad to meet 
you, for we all feel that we have become acquainted 
with you through your sermons, in which we 
have found much interest and religious edification." 

Noticing the magnificent physique of both 
father and son, I asked the Emperor, when the 
conversation turned incidentally upon matters 
of health, what he did to maintain such fine 
strength in the midst of all the cares of State. 
He replied, 44 Doctor, the secret of my strength 
is in my physical exercise. This I never fail to 
take regularly and freely every day before I 
enter upon any of the work of my official duties, and 
to it I attribute the excellent health which I enjoy." 

The Emperor insisted that I should see the 
Empress and the rest of the Imperial Family, 
and we proceeded to another equally plain, un- 
pretentious apartment where, with her daughters, 
we found the Empress. After a long conversation, 
and just as I was leaving, I asked the Emperor 
whether there was much discontent among the 
nobility as a result of the emancipation among 
the serfs, and he replied, 44 Yes, all the trouble 
with my empire arises from the turbulence and 
discontent of the nobility. The people are per- 
fectly quiet and contented." 

A reference was made to the possibility of war, 
and I remember the fear with which the Empress 
entered into the talk just then, saying 44 We all 



266 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



dread war. With our modern equipments it 
could be nothing short of massacre, and from that 
we hope we may be preserved." 

My presentation at Peterhoff Palace to Alex- 
ander III. and the royal family of Russia was 
entirely an unexpected event in my itinerary. 
It was in the nature of a compliment to my 
mission, to the American people who have con- 
tributed so much to the distress in Russia, and 
to the Christian Church for which this " hard- 
hearted, cruel Czar " had so much respect and so 
much interest. It was said that in common with 
all Americans I expected to find the Emperor 
attired in some bomb-proof regalia. Perhaps I 
was impressed with the Czar's indifference and 
fearlessness. Someone said to me that no doubt 
he was quite used to the thought of assassination. 
I discovered, in a long conversation that I had 
with him, that he was ready to die, and when a 
man is ready why should he be afraid ? 

The most significant and important outcome 
of this presentation to the Czar was his pledge 
to my countrymen that Russia would always 
remember the generosity of the American people 
in their future relations. Everywhere in St. 
Petersburg and Moscow, the Russian and Ameri- 
can flags were displayed together on the public 
buildings, so that I look back upon this occasion 
with a pardonable impression of its international 
importance. There was a suggestion of this 
feeling in an address presented to us by the City 
Council of St. Petersburg, in which a graceful 
remembrance was made of that occasion in 1868, 
when a special embassy from the United States, 
with Mr. G. V. Fox, a Cabinet officer, at its head, 
visited St. Petersburg and expressed sympathy 
for Russia and its Sovereign. 

Returning from Russia, I continued my preaching 



ENGLISH KINDNESS 



267 



tour in England, preaching to immense crowds, 
estimated in the English newspapers to be from 
fifteen to twenty thousand people, in the large 
cities. In Birmingham the crowd followed me 
into the hotel, where it was necessary to lock the 
doors to keep them out. What incalculable kind- 
ness I received in England ! I remember a fare- 
well banquet given me at the Crystal Palace by 
twenty Nonconformists, at which I was presented 
with a gold watch from my English friends ; and 
a scene in Swansea, when, after my sermon, they 
sang Welsh hymns to me in their native language. 

Some people wonder how I have kept in such 
good humour with the world when I have been 
at times violently assailed or grossly misrepre- 
sented. It was because the kindnesses towards 
me have predominated. For the past thirty or 
forty years the mercies have carried the day. If 
I went to the depot there was a carriage to meet 
me. If I tarried at the hotel some one mysteriously 
paid the bill. If I were attacked in newspaper or 
church court there were always those willing to 
take up for me the cudgels. If I were falsified the 
lie somehow turned out to my advantage. 
My enemies have helped me quite as much as my 
friends. If I preached or lectured I always had 
a crowd. If I had a boil it was almost always in 
a comfortable place. If my church burned down 
I got a better one. I offered a manuscript to a 
magazine, hoping to get for it forty dollars, which 
I much needed at the time. The manuscript was 
courteously returned as not being available ; but 
that article for which I could not get forty dollars 
has since, in other uses, brought me forty thousand 
dollars. The caricaturists have sent multitudes 
of people to hear me preach and lecture. I have had 
antagonists ; but if any man of my day has had more 
warm personal friends I do not know his name. 



THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



1892—1895 

I had only one fault to find with the world in my 
sixty years of travel over it and that was it had 
treated me too well. In the ordinary course of 
events, and by the law of the Psalmist, I still had 
ten more years before me ; but, according to my 
own calculations, life stretched brilliantly ahead 
of me as far as heart and mind could wish. There 
were many things to take into consideration. 
There was the purpose of the future, its obliga- 
tions, its opportunities to adjust. My whole life 
had been a series of questions. My course had 
been the issue of problems, a choice of many ways. 

Shortly after the dawn of 1893 the financial 
difficulties in which the New Tabernacle had been 
reared confronted us. It had arisen from the 
ashes of its predecessor by sheer force of energy 
and pluck. It had taken a vast amount of 
negotiation. A loan of $125,000, made to us by 
Russell Sage, payable in one year at 6 per cent., 
was one of the means employed. This loan was 
arranged by Mr. A. L. Soulard, the president of 
the German- American Title and Guarantee Com- 
pany. Mr. Sage was a friend of mine, of my 
church, and that was some inducement. The 
loan was made upon the guarantee of the Title 

268 



SPIRITUAL WARNING 269 



Company. It was reported to me that Mr. Sage 
had said at this time : — 

" It all depends upon whether Dr. Talmage 
lives or not. If he should happen to die the 
Brooklyn Tabernacle wouldn't be worth much." 

The German-American Title and Guarantee 
Company then secured an insurance on my life 
for $25,000 and insisted that the Board of 
Trustees of the church give their individual bonds 
for the fulfillment of the mortgage. The trustees 
were W. D. Mead, F. H. Branch, John Wood, 
C. S. Darling, F. M. Lawrence, and James B. 
Ferguson. In this way Mr. Sage satisfied both 
his religious sympathies and his business nature. 
For more reasons than one, therefore, I kept 
myself in perfect health. This was only one of 
the incidents involved in the building of the New 
Tabernacle. For two years I had donated my 
salary of $12,000 a year to the church, and had 
worked hard incessantly to infuse it with life 
and success. This information may serve to con- 
tradict some scattered impressions made by our 
friendly critics, that my personal aim in life was 
mercenary and selfish. My income from my 
lectures, and the earnings from my books and 
published sermons, were sufficient for all my 
needs. 

During the year 1893 I did my best to stem the 
tide of debt and embarrassment in which the 
business elements of the church was involved. I 
find an entry in my accounts of a check dated 
March 27, 1893, in Brooklyn, for $10,000, which 
I donated to the Brooklyn Tabernacle Emergency 
Fund. There is a spiritual warning in almost 
every practical event of our lives, and it seemed 
that in that year, so discomforting to the New 
Tabernacle, there was a spiritual warning to me 
which grew into a certainty of feeling that my 



270 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



work called me elsewhere. I said nothing of this 
to anyone, but quietly thought the situation over 
without haste or undue prejudice. My Gospel 
field was a big one. The whole world accepted 
the Gospel as I preached it, and I concluded that 
it did not make much difference where the pulpit 
was in which I preached. 

After a full year's consideration of the entire 
outlook, in January, 1894, I announced my 
resignation as pastor of the Tabernacle, to take 
effect in the spring of that year. I gave no other 
cause than that I felt that I had been in one place 
long enough. An attempt was made by the Press 
to interpret my action into a private difference 
of opinion with the trustees of the church — but 
this was not true. All sorts of plans were proposed 
for raising the required sum of our expensive 
church management, in which I concurred and 
laboured heartily. It was said that I resigned 
because the trustees were about to decide in 
favour of charging a nominal fee of ten cents to 
attend our services. I made no objection to this. 
My resignation was a surprise to the congregation 
because I had not indicated my plans or intimated 
to them my own private expectations of the 
remaining years of my life. 

On Sunday, January 22, 1894, among the usual 
church announcements made from the pulpit, I 
read the following statement, which I had written 
on a slip of paper : — 

" This coming spring I will have been pastor 
of this church twenty-five years — a quarter of a 
century — long enough for any minister to preach 
in one place. At that anniversary I will resign 
this pulpit, and it will be occupied by such person 
as you may select. 

" Though the work has been arduous, because 
of the unparalleled necessity of building three 



PASTOR AND FLOCK 271 



great churches, two of them destroyed by fire, 
the field has been delightful and blessed by God. 
No other congregation has ever been called to 
build three churches, and I hope no other pastor 
will ever be called to such an undertaking. 

" My plans after resignation have not been 
developed, but I shall preach both by voice and 
newspaper press, as long as my life and health 
are continued. 

" From first to last we have been a united 
people, and my fervent thanks are to all the 
Boards of Trustees and Elders, whether of the 
present or past, and to all the congregation, and 
to New York and Brooklyn. 

" I have no vocabulary intense enough to 
express my gratitude to the newspaper press of 
these cities for the generous manner in which they 
have treated me and augmented my work for 
this quarter of a century. 

" After such a long pastorate it is a painful 
thing to break the ties of affection, but I hope our 
friendship will be renewed in Heaven." 

There was a sorrowful silence when I stopped 
reading, which made me realise that I had tasted 
another bitter draft of life in the prospect of 
farewell between pastor and flock. I left the 
church alone and went quietly to my study where 
I closed the door to all inquirers. 

If my decision had been made upon any other 
ground than those of spiritual obligation to the 
purpose of my whole life I should have said so. 
My decision had been made because I had been 
thinking of my share in the evangelism of the 
world, and how mercifully I had been spared and 
instructed and forwarded in my Gospel mission. 
I wanted a more neighbourly relation with the 
human race than the prescribed limitations of a 
single pulpit. 



272 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



In February, 1893, I lost an evangelical 
neighbour of many years — Bishop Brooks. He 
was a giant, but he died. My mind goes back to 
the time when Bishop Brooks and myself were 
neighbours in Philadelphia. He had already 
achieved a great reputation as a pulpit orator in 
1870. The first time I saw him was on a stormy 
night as he walked majestically up the aisle of the 
church to which I administered. He had come 
to hear his neighbour, as afterward I often went to 
hear him. What a great and genial soul he was ! 
He was a man that people in the streets 
stopped to look at, and strangers would say as he 
passed, " I wonder who that man is ? " Of un- 
usual height and stature, with a face beaming in 
kindness, once seeing him he was always remem- 
bered, but the pulpit was his throne. With a 
velocity of utterance that was the despair of the 
swiftest stenographers, he poured forth his im- 
passioned soul, making every theme he touched 
luminous and radiant. 

Putting no emphasis on the mere technicalities 
of religion, he made his pulpit flame with its 
power. He was the special inspiration of young 
men, and the disheartened took courage under 
the touch of his words and rose up healed. It 
will take all time and all eternity to tell the results 
of his Christian utterances. There were some who 
thought that there was here and there an unsafe 
spot in his theology. As for ourselves we never 
found anything in the man or in his utterances 
that we did not like. 

Although fully realising that I was approaching 
a crisis of some sort in my own career, it was with 
definite thankfulness for the mercies that had 
upheld me so long that I forged ahead. My state 
of mind at this time was peaceful and contented. 
I find in a note-book of this period of my life the 



EXTRACTS FROM MY NOTE-BOOK 273 



following entry, which betrays the trend of my 
heart and mind during the last milestone of my 
ministry in Brooklyn: 

" Here I am in Madison, Wisconsin, July 23, 
1893. I have been attending Monona Lake 
Chautauqua, lecturing yesterday, preaching this 
morning. This Sabbath afternoon I have been 
thinking of the goodness of God to me. It began 
many years before I was born ; for as far back as 
I can find anything concerning my ancestry, both 
on my father's and mother's sides, they were 
virtuous and Christian people. Who shall esti- 
mate the value of such a pedigree ? The old 
cradle, as I remember it, was made out of plain 
boards, but it was a Christian cradle. God has 
been good in letting us be born in a fair climate, 
neither in the rigours of frigidity nor in the scorch- 
ing air of tropical regions. Fortunate was I in being 
started in a home neither rich nor poor, so that I 
had the temptations of neither luxury nor poverty. 
Fortunate in good health — sixty years of it. I 
say sixty rather than sixty-one, for I believe the 
first year or two of my life compassed all styles of 
infantile ailments, from mumps to scarlet fever. 

" A quarter of a century ago, looking at a pile 
of manuscript sermons, I said again and again to 
my wife : ' Those sermons were not made only 
for the people who have already heard them. 
They must have a wider field.' The prophecy 
came true, and every one of those sermons 
through the press has come to the attention of at 
least twenty-five million people. I have no 
reason to be morose or splenetic. 6 Goodness and 
mercy have followed me all the days of my life.' 
Here I am at 61 years of age without an ache, 
a pain, or a physical infirmity. Now closing a 
preaching and lecturing tour from Georgia to 
Minnesota and Wisconsin, I am to-morrow morning 

T 



274 THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE 



to start for my residence at the seaside where 
my family are awaiting me, and notwithstanding 
all the journeying and addressing of great 
audiences, and shaking hands with thousands of 
people, after a couple of days' rest will be no more 
weary than when I left home. ' Bless the Lord, 
0 my soul ! ' " 

My ordinary mode of passing vacations has 
been to go to East Hampton, Long Island, and 
thence to go out for two or three preaching and 
lecturing excursions to points all the way between 
New York and San Francisco, or from Texas to 
Maine. I find that I cannot rest more than two 
weeks at a time. More than that wearies me. 
Of all the places I have ever known East Hampton 
is the best place for quiet and recuperation. 

I became acquainted with it through my 
brother-in-law, Rev. S. L. Mershon. The Pres- 
byterian church here was his first pastoral 
settlement. When a boy in grammar school and 
college I visited him and his wife, my sister Mary. 
The place is gradually submitting to modern 
notions, but East Hampton, whether in its anti- 
quated shape or epauletted and frilled and decor- 
ated by the hand of modern enterprise, has always 
been to me a semi-Paradise. 

As I approach it my pulse is slackened and a 
delicious somnolence comes over me. I dream 
out the work for another year. 

My most useful sermons have been born here. 
My most successful books were planned here. In 
this place, between the hours of somnolence, 
there come hours of illumination and ecstasy. It 
seems far off from the heated and busy world. 
East Hampton has been a great blessing to my 
family. It has been a mercy to have them here, 
free from all summer heats. When nearly grown, 
the place is not lively enough for them, but an 



EAST HAMPTON 



275 



occasional diversion to White Sulphur, or Alum 
Springs, or a summer in Europe, has given them 
abundant opportunity. All my children have 
been with us in Europe, except my departed son, 
DeWitt, who was at a most important period in 
school at the time of our going, or he would have 
been with us on one of our foreign tours. 

I have crossed the ocean twelve times, that is 
six each way, and like it less and less. It is to me 
a stomachic horror. But the frequent visits have 
given educational opportunity to my children. 
Foreign travel, and lecturing and preaching 
excursions in our own country have been to me 
a stimulus, while East Hampton has been to me a 
sedative and anodyne. For this beautiful medi- 
cament I am profoundly thankful. 

But I am writing this in the new house that we 
have builded in place of our old one. It is far 
more beautiful and convenient and valuable than 
the old one, but I doubt if it will be any more 
useful. And a railroad has been laid out, and 
before summer is passed the shriek of a locomotive 
will awaken all the Rip Van Winkles that have 
been slumbering here since before the first 
almanac was printed. 

The task of remembering the best of one's life 
is a pleasantjone. Under date of December 20, 
1893, I find another recollection in my note- 
book that is worth amplifying. 

44 This morning, passing through Frankfort, 
Kentucky, on my way from Lexington, at the 
close of a preaching and lecturing tour of nearly 
three weeks, I am reminded of a most royal visit 
that I had here at Frankfort as the guest of 
Governor Blackburn, at the gubernatorial man- 
sion about ten years ago. 

44 1 had made an engagement to preach twice 
at High Bridge, Ky., a famous camp meeting. 



270 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



Governor Blackburn telegraphed me to Brooklyn 
asking when and where I would enter Kentucky, 
as he wished to meet me on the border of the 
State and conduct me to the High Bridge services. 
We met at Cincinnati. Crossing the Ohio River, 
we found the Governor's especial car with its 
luxurious appointments and group of servants to 
spread the table and wait on every want. The 
Governor, a most fascinating and splendid man, 
with a warmth of cordiality that glows in me every 
time I recall his memory, entertained me with the 
story of his life which had been a romance of 
mercy in the healing art, he having been elected 
to his high office in appreciation of his heroic 
services as physician in time of yellow fever. 

" At Lexington a brusque man got on our car, 
and we entered with him into vigorous conver- 
sation. I did not hear his name on introduction, 
and I felt rather sorry that the Governor should 
have invited him into our charming seclusion. 
But the stranger became such an entertainer as a 
colloquialist, and demonstrated such extraordi- 
nary intellectuality, I began to wonder who he 
was, and I addressed him, saying, " Sir, I did not 
hear your name when you were introduced." 
He replied, ' My name is Beck — Senator Beck. 5 
Then and there began one of the most entertain- 
ing friendships of my life. Great Scotch soul ! 
Beck came a poor boy from Scotland to America, 
hired himself out for farm work in Kentucky, 
discovered to his employer a fondness for reading^ 
was offered free access to his employer's large 
library, and marched right up into education and 
the legal profession and the Senate of the United 
States." 

That day we got out of the train at High 
Bridge. My sermon was on " The Divinity of the 
Scriptures." Directly in front of me, and with 



A VISIT TO KENTUCKY 277 



most intense look, whether of disapprobation or 
approval I knew not, sat the Senator. On the 
train back to Lexington, where he took me in his 
carriage on a long ride amid the scenes of Clayiana, 
he told me the sermon had re-established his 
faith in Christianity, for he had been brought up 
to believe the Bible as most of the people in 
Scotland believe it. But I did not know all that 
transpired that day at High Bridge until after 
the Senator was dead, and I was in Lexington, 
and visited his grave at the cemetery where he 
sleeps amid the mighty Kentuckians who have 
adorned their State. 

On this last visit that I speak of, a young man 
connected with the Phoenix Hotel, Lexington, 
where Senator Beck lived much of the time, and 
where he entertained me, told me that on the 
morning of the day that Senator Beck went with 
me to High Bridge he had been standing in that 
hotel among a group of men who were assailing 
Christianity, and expressing surprise that Senator 
Beck was going to High Bridge to hear a sermon. 
When we got to the hotel that afternoon the same 
group of men were standing together, and were 
waiting to hear the Senator's report of the 
service, and hoping to get something to the dis- 
advantage of religion. My informant heard them 
say to him, "Well, how was it?" The Senator 
replied, " Doctor Talmage proved the truth of 
the Bible as by a mathematical demonstration. 
Now talk to me no more on that subject." 

On Sunday morning I returned to High Bridge 
for another preaching service. Governor Black- 
burn again took us in his especial car. The 
word "immensity" may give adequate idea of 
the audience present. Then the Governor in- 
sisted that I go with him to Frankfort and spend 
a few days. They were memorable days to me. 



278 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



At breakfast, lunch and dinner the| prominent 
people of Kentucky were invited to meet me. 
Mrs. Blackburn took me to preach to her Bible 
Class in the State Prison. I think there were 
about 800 convicts in that class. Paul would 
have called her " The elect lady," " Thoroughly 
furnished unto all good works." Heaven only 
can tell the story of her usefulness. What days 
and nights they were at the Governor's Mansion. 
No one will ever understand the heartiness and 
generosity and warmth of Kentucky hospitality 
until he experiences it. 

President Arthur was coming through Lexing- 
ton on his way to open an Exposition at Louis- 
ville. Governor Blackburn was to go to Lexing- 
ton to receive him and make a speech. The 
Governor read me the speech in the State House 
before leaving Frankfort, and asked for my 
criticism. It was an excellent speech about 
which I made only one criticism, and that con- 
cerning a sentence in which he praised the beauti- 
ful women and the fine horses of Kentucky. I 
suggested that he put the human and the equine 
subjects of his admiration in different sentences, 
and this suggestion he adopted. 

We started for Lexington and arrived at the 
hotel. Soon the throngs in the streets showed 
that the President of the United States was 
coming. The President was escorted into the 
parlour to receive the address of welcome, and 
seeing me in the throng, he exclaimed, "Dr. 
Talmage ! Are you here ? It makes me feel at 
home to see you." The Governor put on his 
spectacles and began to read his speech, but the 
light was poor, and he halted once or twice for a 
word, when I was tempted to prompt him, for 
I remembered his speech better than he did 
himself. 



KENTUCKY HOSPITALITY 279 



That day I bade good-bye to Governor Black- 
burn, and I saw him two or three times after 
that, once in my church in Brooklyn and once in 
Louisville lecture hall, where he stood at the 
door to welcome me as I came in from New 
Orleans on a belated train at half-past nine o'clock 
at night when I ought to have begun my lecture 
at 8 o'clock ; and the last time I saw him he was 
sick and in sad decadence and near the terminus 
of an eventful life. One of my brightest antici- 
pations of Heaven is that of seeing my illustrious 
Kentucky friend. 

That experience at Frankfort was one of the 
many courtesies I have received from all the 
leading men of all the States. I have known many 
of the Governors, and Legislatures, when I have 
looked in upon them, have adjourned to give me 
reception, a speech has always been called for, and 
then a general hand-shaking has followed. It was 
markedly so with the Legislatures of Ohio and 
Missouri. At Jefferson City, the capital of 
Missouri, both Houses of Legislature adjourned 
and met together in the Assembly Room, which 
was the larger place, and then the Governor 
introduced me for an address. 

It is a satisfaction to be kindly treated by 
the prominent characters of your own time. I 
confess to a feeling of pleasure when General 
Grant, at the Memorial Services at Greenwood — 
I think the last public meeting he ever attended, 
and where I delivered the Memorial Address on 
Decoration Day — said that he had read with 
interest everything that appeared connected with 
my name. President Arthur, at the White House 
one day, told me the same thing. 

Whenever by the mysterious laws of destiny 
I found myself in the cave of the winds of dis- 
pleasure, there always came to me encouraging 



280 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



echoes from[somewhere. I find among my papers 
at this time a telegram from the Russian Am- 
bassador in Washington, which illustrates this 
idea. 

This message read as follows : — 

" Washington, D.C., May 20, 1893. 

" To Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, Bible House, New 
York. 

44 1 would be very glad to see you on the 27th 
of May in Philadelphia on board the Russian 
flagship 1 Dimitry Donskoy J at eleven o'clock, to 
tender to you in presence of our brilliant sailors 
and on Russian soil, a souvenir His Majesty the 
Emperor ordered me to give in his name to the 
American gentleman who visited Russia during 
the trying year 1892. 

" Cantacuzene." 

Gladly I obeyed this request, and was pre- 
sented, amid imperial ceremonies, with a mag- 
nificent solid gold tea service from the Emperor 
Alexander III. These were the sort of apprecia- 
tive incidents so often happening in my life that 
infused my work with encouragements. 

The months preceding the close of my ministry 
in Brooklyn developed a remarkable interest 
shown among those to whom my name had be- 
come a symbol of the Gospel message. There was 
a universal, world-wide recognition of my work. 
Many regretted my decision to leave the Brooklyn 
Tabernacle, some doubted that I actually intended 
to do so, others foretold a more brilliant future 
for me in the open trail of Gospel service they 
expected me to follow. 

All this enthusiasm expressed by my friends 
of the world culminated in a celebration festival 
given in honour of the twenty-fifth anniversary of 
my pastorate in Brooklyn. The movement spread 



TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY 281 



all over the country and to Europe. It was 
decided to make the occasion a sort of Interna- 
tional reception, to be held in the Tabernacle on 
May 10 and 11, 1894. 

I had made my plans for a wide glimpse of the 
earth and the people on it who knew me, but 
whom I had never seen. I had made pre- 
parations to start on May 14, and the dates set 
for this jubilee were arranged on the eve of my 
farewell. I was about to make a complete 
circuit of the globe, and whatever my friends 
expected me to do otherwise I approached this 
occasion with a very definite conclusion that it 
would be my farewell to Brooklyn. 

I recall this event in my life with keen contrasts 
of feeling, for it is mingled in my heart with swift 
impressions of extraordinary joy and tragic 
import. All of it was God's will — the blessing 
and the chastening. 

The church had been decorated with the stars 
and stripes, with gold and purple. In front of the 
great organ, under a huge picture of the pastor, 
was the motto that briefly described my evan- 
gelical career : — 

" Tabernacle his pulpit ; the world his audi- 
ence." 

The reception began at eight o'clock in the 
evening with a selection on the great organ, by 
Henry Eyre Brown, our organist, of an original 
composition written by him and called, in com- 
pliment to the occasion, 4 4 The Talmage Silver 
Anniversary March." On the speaker's platform 
with me were Mayor Schieren, of Brooklyn, Mr. 
Barnard Peters, Rev. Father Sylvester Malone, 
Rev. Dr. John F. Carson, ex-Mayor David A. 
Boody, Rev. Dr. Gregg, Rabbi F. De Sol Mendes, 
Rev. Dr. Louis Albert Banks, Hon. John Winslow, 
Rev. Spencer F. Roche, and Rev. A. C. Dixon 



282 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



— an undenominational gathering of good men. 
There is, perhaps, no better way to record my own 
impressions of this event than to quote the words 
with which I replied to the complimentary 
speeches of this oration. They recall, more closely 
and positively, the sensibilities, the emotions, 
and the inspiration of that hour: 

" Dear Mr. Mayor, and friends before me, and 
friends behind me, and friends all around me, 
and friends hovering over me, and friends in this 
room, and the adjoining rooms, and friends in- 
doors and outdoors — forever photographed upon 
my mind and heart is this scene of May 10, 1894. 
The lights, the flags, the decorations, the flowers, 
the music, the illumined faces will remain with 
me while earthly life lasts, and be a cause of 
thanksgiving after I have passed into the Great 
Beyond. Two feelings dominate me to-night — 
gratitude and unworthiness ; gratitude first to 
God, and next, to all who have complimented me. 

" My twenty-five years in Brooklyn have been 
happy years — hard work, of course. This is the 
fourth church in which I have preached since com- 
ing to Brooklyn, and how much of the difficult 
work of church building that implies you can ap- 
preciate. This church had its mother and its grand- 
mother, and its great-grandmother. I could not tell 
the story of disasters without telling the story 
of heroes and heroines, and around me in all these 
years have stood men and women of whom the 
world was not worthy. But for the most part the 
twenty-five years have been to me a great happi- 
ness. With all good people here present the 
wonder is, although they may not express it, 
4 What will be the effect upon the pastor of this 
church; of all this scene?' Only one effect, I 
assure you, and that an inspiration for better 
work for God and humanity. And the question 



CONGRATULATIONS 288 



is already absorbing my entire nature, 4 What can 
I do to repay Brooklyn for this great uprising ? ' 
Here is my hand and heart for a campaign of 
harder work for God and righteousness than I have 
ever yet accomplished. I have been told that 
sometimes in the Alps there are great avalanches 
called down by a shepherd's voice. The pure 
white snows pile up higher and higher like a great 
white throne, mountains of snow on mountains 
of snow, and all this is so delicately and evenly 
poised that the touch of a hand or the vibration 
of air caused by the human voice will send down 
the avalanche into the valleys with all-compassing 
and overwhelming power. Well, to-night I think 
that the heavens above us are full of pure white 
blessings, mountains of mercy on mountains of 
mercy, and it will not take much to bring down 
the avalanche of benediction, and so I put up 
my right hand to reach it and lift my voice to 
start it. And now let the avalanche of blessing 
come upon your bodies, your minds, your souls, 
your homes, your churches, and your city. 
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel from ever- 
lasting to everlasting, and let the whole earth be 
filled with His glory ! Amen and Amen ! " 

On the next day, May 11, the reception was 
continued. Among the speakers was the Hon. 
William M. Evarts, ex-Secretary of State, who, 
though advanced in years, honoured us with his 
presence and an address. Senator Walsh, of 
Georgia, spoke for the South ; ex-Congressman 
Joseph C. Hendrix of Brooklyn, Rev. Charles L. 
Thompson, Murat Halstead, Rev. Dr. I. J. 
Lansing, General Tracey, were among the other 
speakers of the evening. 

From St. Petersburg came a cable, signed by 
Count Bobrinsky, saying : — " Heartfelt congratu- 
lations from remembering friends." 



284 THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE 



Messages from Senator John Sherman, from 
Governor McKinley (before he became President), 
from Mr. Gladstone, from Rev. Joseph Parker, 
and among others from London, the following 
cable, which I shall always prize among the 
greatest testimonials of the broad Gospel purpose 
in England — 

" Cordial congratulations ; grateful acknow- 
ledgment of splendid services in ministry during 
last twenty-five years. Warm wishes for future 
prosperity. 

" (Signed) Archdeacon of London, 
Canon Wilberforce. 
Thomas Davidson. 
Professor Simpson. 
John Lobb. 
Bishop of London." 

Appreciation, good cheer, encouragement swept 
around and about me, as I was to start on what 
Dr. Gregg described as "A walk among the 
people of my congregation " around the world. 

The following Sunday, May 13, 1894, just after 
the morning service, the Tabernacle was burned 
to the ground. 



THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



1895—1898 

Among the mysteries that are in every man's 
life, more or less influencing his course, is the 
mystery of disaster that comes upon him noise- 
lessly, suddenly, horribly. The destruction of 
the New Tabernacle by a fire which started in the 
organ loft was one of these mysteries that will 
never be revealed this side of eternity. The 
destruction of any church, no matter how large 
or how popular, does not destroy our faith in God. 
Great as the disaster had been, much greater was 
the mercy of Divine mystery that prevented a 
worse calamity in the loss of human life. The 
fire was discovered just after the morning service, 
and everyone had left the building but myself, 
Mrs. Talmage, the organist, and one or two per- 
sonal friends. We were standing in the centre 
aisle of the church when a puff of smoke suddenly 
came out of the space behind the organ. In less 
than fifteen minutes from that discovery the huge 
pipe organ was a raging furnace, and I personally 
narrowly escaped the falling debris by the rear 
door of my church study. The flags and decora- 
tion which had been put up for the jubilee celebra- 
tion had not been moved, and they whetted the 
appetite of the flames. It was all significant to 
me of one thing chiefly, that at some points of my 

**5 



286 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



life I had been given no choice. At these places 
of surprise in my life there was never any doubt 
about what I had to do. God's way is very clear 
and visible when the Divine purpose is intended 
for you. 

I had delivered that morning my farewell 
sermon before departing on a long journey around 
the world. My prayer, in which the silent sym- 
pathy of a vast congregation joined me, had 
invoked the Divine protection and blessing upon 
us, upon all who were present at that time, upon 
all who had participated in the great jubilee 
service of the preceding week. On the tablets 
of memory I had recalled all the kindnesses that 
had been shown our church by other churches and 
other pastors on that occasion. The general 
feeling of my prayer had been an outpouring of 
heartfelt gratitude for myself and my flock. As 
I have said before, God speaks loudest in the 
thunder of our experiences. There were several 
narrow escapes, for the fire spread with great 
rapidity, but, fortunately, all escaped from the 
doomed building in time. Mr. Frederick W. 
Lawrence and Mr. T. E. Matthews, both of them 
trustees of the church, were exposed to serious 
danger and their escape was providential. Mr. 
Lawrence crept out on his hands and knees to the 
open air, and Mr. Matthews was almost suffo- 
cated when he reached the street. 

The flames spread rapidly in the neighbourhood 
and destroyed the Hotel Regent, adjoining the 
church. At my home that day there were many 
messages of sympathy and condolence brought to 
me, and neighbouring churches sent committees 
to tender the use of their pulpits. In the after- 
noon the Tabernacle trustees met at my house 
and submitted the following letter, which was 
adopted : — - 



SYMPATHY AND CONDOLENCE 287 



" Dear Dr. Talmage. — With saddened hearts, 
but undismayed, and with faith in God unshaken 
and undisturbed, the trustees of the Brooklyn 
Tabernacle have unanimously resolved to rebuild 
the Tabernacle. We find that after paying the 
present indebtedness there will be nothing left 
to begin with. 

" But if we can feel assured that our dear 
pastor will continue to break the bread of life to 
us and to the great multitudes that are accus- 
tomed to throng the Tabernacle, we are willing 
to undertake the work, firmly believing that we 
can safely count upon the blessing of God and the 
practical sympathy of all Christian people. 

" Will you kindly give us the encouragement 
of your promise to serve the Tabernacle as its 
pastor, if we will dedicate a new building free from 
debt, to the honour, the glory, and the service 
of God ? 

" Trustees of the Tabernacle." 

On reading this letter, or rather hearing it read 
to me, in the impulse of gratitude I replied in like 
sympathy. I thanked them, and remembering 
that I had buried their dead, baptised their 
children and married the young, my heart was with 
them. I sincerely felt then, and perhaps I 
always did feel, that I would rather serve them 
than any other people on the face of the earth. 
It was my conclusion that if the trustees could 
fulfil the conditions they had mentioned, of build- 
ing a new Tabernacle, free of debt, I would 
remain their pastor. 

My date for beginning my journey around the 
world had been May 14, the day following the 
disaster. Before leaving, however, I dictated the 
following communication to my friends and the 
friends of my ministry everywhere ; — 



288 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



" Our church has again been halted by a sword 
of flame. The destruction of the first Brooklyn 
Tabernacle was a mystery. The destruction of 
the second a greater — profound. The third cala- 
mity we adjourn to the Judgment Day for expla- 
nation. The home of a vast multitude of souls, 
it has become a heap of ashes. Whether it will 
ever rise again is a prophecy we will not undertake. 
God rules and reigns and makes no mistake. He 
has His way with churches as with individuals. 
One thing is certain : the pastor of the Brooklyn 
Tabernacle will continue to preach as long as life 
and health last. We have no anxieties about a 
place to preach in. But woe is unto us if we 
preach not the Gospel ! We ask for the prayers 
of all good people for the pastor and people of 
the Brooklyn Tabernacle. 

" T. DeWitt Talmage." 

At half past nine o'clock on the night of May 
14, 1894, I descended the front steps of my home 
in Brooklyn, N.Y. The sensation of leaving for 
a journey around the world was not all bright 
anticipation. The miles to be travelled were 
numerous, the seas to be crossed treacherous, the 
solemnities outnumbered the expectations. My 
family accompanied me to the railroad train, and 
my thought was should we ever meet again ? The 
climatic changes, the ships, the shoals, the hurri- 
canes, the bridges, the cars, the epidemics, the 
possibilities hinder any positiveness of prophecy. 
I remembered the consoling remark at my 
reception a few evenings ago, made by the Hon. 
William M. Evarts. 

He said : 44 Dr. Talmage ought to realise that 
if he goes around the world he will come out at 
the same place he started." 

The timbers of our destroyed church were still 



STARTING ON MY WORLD JOURNEY 289 



smoking when I left home. Three great churches 
had been consumed. Why this series of huge 
calamities I knew not. Had I not made all the 
arrangements for departure, and been assured by 
the trustees of my church that they would take 
all further responsibilities upon themselves, I 
would have postponed my intended tour or ad- 
journed it for ever ; but all whom I consulted 
told me that now was the time to go, so I turned 
my face towards the Golden Gate. 

In a book called " The Earth Girdled," I 
have published all the facts of this journey. It 
contains so completely the daily record of my 
trip that there is no necessity to repeat any of its 
contents in these pages. 

I returned to the United States in the autumn 
of 1894 and entered actively into a campaign of 
preaching wherever a pulpit was available. Of 
course there was much curiosity and interest to 
know how I was going to pursue my Gospel work, 
having resigned my pastorate in Brooklyn. On 
Sunday, January 6, 1895, I commenced a series 
of afternoon Gospel meetings in the Academy of 
Music, New York, every Sunday. Because the 
pastors of other churches had written me that an 
afternoon service was the only one that would 
not interfere with their regular services, I selected 
that time, otherwise I would much have preferred 
the morning or the evening. I decided to go to 
New York because for many years friends over 
there had been begging me to come. I regarded 
it as absurd and improbable to expect the 
people of Brooklyn to build a fourth Tabernacle, 
so I went in the direction that I felt would give 
me the largest opportunity in the world. 

I continued to reside in Brooklyn pending 
future plans. I liked Brooklyn immensely — not 
only the people of my own former parish, but 

u 



290 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



prominent people of all churches and denomina- 
tions there are my warm personal friends. Any 
particular church in which I preached thereafter 
was only the candlestick. In different parts of 
the world my sermons were published in more 
than ten million copies every week. How many 
readers saw them no one can say positively. 
Those sermons came back to me in book form in 
almost every language of Europe. 

My arrangements at the Academy of Music 
were not the final plans for my Gospel work. I 
expected, however, to gather from these Gospel 
meetings sufficient guidance to decide my field of 
work for the rest of my life. I felt then that I 
was yet to do my best work free from all hin- 
drances. I looked forward to fully twenty years 
of good hard work before me. 

Over nine churches in my own country, and 
several in England, had made very enthusiastic 
offers to me to accept a permanent pastoral 
obligation. For some reason or other I became 
more and more convinced, however, that the 
divine intention in my life from this time on 
would be different from any previous plan. The 
only reason that I declined to accept these offers 
was because there was enough work for me to 
do outside a permanent pulpit. 

My literary work became extensive in its de- 
mand upon my time, and my weekly sermons were 
like a sacred obligation that I could not forego. 
I never found any difficulty in finding a pulpit 
from which to preach every Sunday of my life. 
There were some ministers who preferred to sand- 
wich me in between regular hours of worship, if 
possible, so as to maintain the even course of their 
way and avoid the crowds. I never could avoid them 
and I never wanted to. I was never nervous, as 
many people are, of a crowded place — of a panic. 



ON PANICS 



291 



The sudden excitement to which we give the 
name of ' < panic" is almost always senseless and 
without foundation, whether this panic be a wild 
rush in the money market or the stampede of an 
audience down the aisles and out of the windows. 
My advice to my family when they are in a con- 
gregation of people suddenly seized upon by a 
determination to get out right away, and to get 
out regardless as to whether others are able to 
get out, is to sit quiet on the supposition that 
nothing has happened, or is going to happen. 

I have been in a large number of panics, 
and in all the cases nothing occurred except a 
demonstration of frenzy. One night in the 
Academy of Music, Brooklyn, while my congre- 
gation were worshipping there, at the time we 
were rebuilding one of our churches, there occurred 
a wild panic. There was a sound that gave the 
impression that the galleries were giving way 
under the immense throngs of people. I had been 
preaching about ten minutes when at the alarm- 
ing sound aforesaid, the whole audience rose to 
their feet except those who fainted. Hundreds 
of voices were in full shriek. Before me I saw 
strong men swoon. The organist fled the platform. 
In an avalanche people went down the stairs. A 
young man left his hat and overcoat and sweet- 
heart, and took a leap for life, and it is doubtful 
whether he ever found his hat or coat, although, 
I suppose, he did recover his sweetheart . Terror- 
isation reigned. I shouted at the top of my voice, 
" Sit down ! " but it was a cricket addressing a 
cyclone. Had it not been that the audience for 
the most part were so completely packed in, there 
must have been a great loss of life in the struggle. 
Hoping to calm the multitude I began to sing 
the long meter doxology, but struck it at such a 
high pitch that by the time I came to the second 



292 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



line I broke down. I then called to a gentleman 
in the orchestra whom I knew could sing well : 
" Thompson, can't you sing better than that ? " 
whereupon he started the doxology again. By 
the time we came to the second line scores of 
voices had joined, and by the time we came to 
the third line hundreds of voices enlisted, and the 
last line marshalled thousands. Before the last 
line was reached I cried out, "As I was saying 
when you interrupted me," and then went on 
with my sermon. The cause of the panic was the 
sliding of the snow from one part of the roof of 
the Academy to another part. That was all. 
But no one who was present that night will ever 
forget the horrors of the scene. 

On the following Wednesday I was in the large 
upper room of the college at Lewisburg, Pa.; I 
was about to address the students. No more 
people could get into this room, which was on 
the second or third storey. The President of the 
college was introducing me when some inflam- 
mable Christmas greens, which had some six 
months before been wound around a pillar in the 
centre of the room, took fire, and from floor to 
ceiling there was a pillar of flame. Instantly the 
place was turned from a jolly commencement 
scene, in which beauty and learning and con- 
gratulation commingled, into a raving bedlam of 
fright and uproar. The panic of the previous 
Sunday night in the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, 
had schooled me for the occasion, and I saw at a 
glance that when the Christmas greens were 
through burning all would be well. 

One of the professors said to me, " You seem 
to be the only composed person present." I 
replied, " Yes, I got prepared for this by some- 
thing which I saw last Sunday in Brooklyn." 

So I give my advice : On occasions of panic, 



MY RESIGNATION 293 



sit still ; in 999 cases out of a thousand there is 
nothing the matter. 

I was not released from my pastorate of the 
Brooklyn Tabernacle by the Brooklyn Presbytery 
until December, 1894, after my return from 
abroad. Some explanation was demanded of me 
by members of the Presbytery for my decision 
to relinquish my pastorate, and I read the follow- 
ing statement which I had carefully prepared. 
It concerns these pages because it is explanatory 
of the causes which carried me over many cross- 
roads, encountered everywhere in my life : 

" To the Brooklyn Presbytery — 

" Dear Brethren, — After much prayer and 
solemn consideration I apply for the dissolution 
of the pastoral relation existing between the 
Brooklyn Tabernacle and myself. I have only 
one reason for asking this. As you all know, we 
have, during my pastorate, built three large 
churches and they have been destroyed. If I 
remain pastor we must undertake the superhuman 
work of building a fourth church. I do not feel 
it my duty to lead in such an undertaking. The 
plain providential indications are that my work 
in the Brooklyn Tabernacle is concluded. Let 
me say, however, to the Presbytery, that I do 
not intend to go into idleness, but into other 
service quite as arduous as that in which I have 
been engaged. Expecting that my request will 
be granted I take this opportunity of expressing 
my love for all the brethren in the Presbytery 
with whom I have been so long and so pleasantly 
associated, and to pray for them and the churches 
they represent the best blessings that God can 
bestow. — Yours in the Gospel, 



" T. DeWitt Talmage." 



294 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



The following resolution was then offered by 
the Presbytery as follows : 

44 Resolved — That the Presbytery, while yield- 
ing to Dr. Talmage's earnest petition for the dis- 
solution of the relationship existing between the 
Brooklyn Tabernacle and himself, expresses its 
deep regret at the necessity for such action, and 
wishes Dr. Talmage abundant success in any field 
in which in the providence of God he may be 
called to labour. Presbytery also expresses its 
profound sympathy with the members of the 
Tabernacle Church in the loss of their honoured 
and loving pastor, and cordially commends them 
to go forward in all the work of the church." 

In October, 1895, I accepted the call of the 
First Presbyterian Church in Washington. My 
work was to be an association with the Rev. Dr. 
Byron W. Sunderland, the President's pastor. 
It was Dr. Sunderland's desire that I should do 
this, and although there had been some intention 
in Dr. Sunderland's mind to resign his pastorate 
on account of ill-health I advocated a joint 
pastorate. There were invitations from all parts 
of the world for me to preach at this time. I had 
calls from churches in Melbourne, Australia ; 
Toronto, Canada ; San Francisco, California ; 
Louisville, Kentucky ; Chicago, Illinois ; New 
York City ; Brooklyn, N.Y. London had pledged 
me a larger edifice than Spurgeon's Tabernacle. 
All these cities, in fact, promised to build big 
churches for me if I would go there to preach. 

The call which came to me from Washington 
was as follows : 

44 Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage— 

44 The congregation of the First Presbyterian 
Church, of Washington, D.C., being on sufficient 
grounds well satisfied of the ministerial quali- 



MY CALL TO WASHINGTON 295 



fications of you, the Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage, 
and having good hopes from our knowledge of 
your past eminent labours that your ministra- 
tions in the Gospel will be profitable to our 
spiritual interests, do earnestly, unanimously, 
harmoniously and heartily, not one voice dissent- 
ing, call and desire you to undertake the office of 
co-pastor in said congregation, promising you in 
the discharge of your duty all proper support, 
encouragement and obedience in the Lord. And 
that you may be free from worldly cares and 
avocations, considering your well and wide- 
known ability and generosity, we do not assume 
to specify any definite sum of money for your 
recompense, but we do hereby promise, pledge 
and oblige ourselves, to pay to you such sums of 
money and at such times as shall be mutually 
satisfactory during the time of your being and 
remaining in the relation to said church to which 
we do hereby call you." 

On September 23, 1895, accompanying this 
call, I received the following dispatch from Dr. 
Sunderland: 

44 T. D. W. Talmage, 1, South Oxford Street. 

44 Meeting unanimous and enthusiastic. Call 
extended, rising vote, all on their feet in a flash. 
Call mailed special delivery. 

44 B. Sunderland." 

On September 26, 1895, I accepted the call in 
the following letter : 

44 The call signed by the elders, deacons, 
trustees, and members of the congregation of the 
First Presbyterian Church of Washington is 
before me. The statement contained in that call 
that you ' do earnestly, unanimously, harmoniously 
and heartily, not one voice dissenting,' desire me 
to become co-pastor in your great and historical 



296 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



church has distinctly impressed me. With the 
same heartiness I now declare my acceptance of 
the call. All of my energies of body, mind, and 
soul shall be enlisted in your Christian service. 
I will preach my first sermon Sabbath evening, 
October 27." 

Washington was always a beautiful city to me, 
the climate in winter is delightful. President 
Cleveland was a personal friend, as were many 
of the public men, and I regarded my call to 
Washington as a national opportunity. It had 
been my custom in the past, when I was very 
tired from overwork, to visit Washington for 
two or three days, stopping at one of the hotels, 
to get a thorough rest. For a long time I was 
really undecided what to do, I had so many 
invitations to take up my home and life work 
in different cities. While preaching was to be 
the main work for the rest of my life, my arrange- 
ments were so understood by my church in 
Washington that I could continue my lecture 
engagements. 

I delivered a farewell sermon before leaving 
for Washington, at the Lafayette Avenue Presby- 
terian Church, in Brooklyn, before an audience 
of five thousand people. My text was 2 Samuel 
xii. 23 : "I shall go to Him." 

I still recall the occasion as one of deep feeling 
— a difficult hour of self-control. I could not 
stop the flow of tears that came with the closing 
paragraph. The words are merely the outward 
sign of my inner feelings : 

" Farewell, dear friends. I could wish that in 
this last interview I might find you all the sons 
and daughters of the Mighty. Why not cross the 
line this hour, out of the world into the kingdom 
of God ? I have lived in peace with all of you. 
There is not among all the hundreds of thousands 




THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF WASHINGTON— 
DR. TALMAGE'S LAST CHARGE. 



A FAREWELL SERMON 297 



of people of this city one person with whom I 
could not shake hands heartily and wish him all 
the happiness for this world and the next. If I 
have wronged anyone let him appear at the close 
of this service, and I will ask his forgiveness 
before I go. Will it not be glorious to meet again 
in our Father's house, where the word goodbye 
shall never be spoken ? How much we shall then 
have to talk over of earthly vicissitudes ! Fare- 
well ! A hearty, loving, hopeful, Christian fare- 
well ! " 

I was installed in the First Presbyterian Church 
in Washington on October 23, i895. My first 
sermon in the new pulpit in Washington was 
preached to a crowded church, with an overflow 
of over three thousand persons in the street 
outside. The text of my sermon was, " All 
Heaven is looking on." 

In a few days, by exchange of my Brooklyn 
property, I had obtained the house 1402 Mass- 
achusetts Avenue, in Washington, for my home. 
It had at one time been the Spanish Legation, and 
was in a delightful part of the city. Shortly 
after my arrival in Washington I received my 
first introduction at the White House, with my 
daughters, to Mrs. Cleveland. Our reception was 
cordial and gracious in the extreme. I had en- 
gaged a suite of rooms at the Arlington Hotel for 
a year. We remained there till our lease was up 
before entering our new home. There was a 
desire among members of the congregation of 
the First Presbyterian Church to have me 
preach at the morning as well as the evening 
services. With three ministers attached to one 
church there was some difficulty in the arrange- 
ment of the sermons. Eventually it was decided 
that I should preach morning and evening. 

Tn 1896 I made an extensive lecturing tour, in 



298 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



which I discussed my impressions of the world 
trip I had recently made. 

The world was getting better in spite of con- 
trasting opinions from men who had thought 
about it. God never launched a failure. 

In 1897 I made an appeal for aid for the famine 
in India. I always believed it was possible to 
evangelise India. 

My life in Washington was not different from 
its former course. I had known many prominent 
people of this country, and some of the great men 
of other lands. 

I had known all the Presidents of the United 
States since Buchanan. I had known Mr. 
Gladstone, all the more prominent men in the 
bishoprics, and in high commercial, financial and 
religious position. I had been presented to 
royalty in more than one country. 

Legislatures in the North and South have 
adjourned to give me reception. The Earl of 
Kintore, a Scottish peer, entertained us at his 
house in London in 1879. I found his family 
delightful Christian people, and the Countess and 
their daughters are very lovely. The Earl presided 
at two of my meetings. He took me to see some of 
his midnight charities — one of them called the 
" House of Lords " and the other the " House 
of Commons," both of them asylums for old and 
helpless men. We parted about two o'clock in 
the morning in the streets of London. As we 
bade each other good-bye he said, " Send me a 
stick of American wood and I will send you a 
stick." His arrived in America, and is now in 
my possession, a shepherd's crook ; but before 
the cane I purchased for him reached Scotland 
the good Ear] had departed this life. I was not 
surprised to hear of his decease. I said to my 
wife in London, " We will never see the Earl 



THE EARL OF KINTORE 299 



again in this world. He is ripe for Heaven, and 
will soon be taken." He attended the House of 
Lords during the week, and almost every Sabbath 
preached in some chapel or church. 

I shall not forget the exciting night I met him. 
I was getting out of a carriage at the door of a 
church in London where I was to lecture when 
a ruffian struck at me, crying, " He that belie veth 
not shall be damned." The scoundrel's blow 
would have demolished me but for the fact that 
a bystander put out his arm and arrested the 
blow. From that scene I was ushered into the 
ante-room of the church where the Earl of 
Kintore was awaiting my arrival. From that 
hour we formed a friendship. He had been a 
continuous reader of my sermons, and that fact 
made an introduction easy. I have from him 
five or six letters. 

Lord and Lady Aberdeen had us at their house 
in London in the summer of 1892. Most gracious 
and delightful people they are. I was to speak 
at Haddo House, their estate in Scotland, at a 
great philanthropic meeting, but I was detained 
in St. Petersburg, Russia, by an invitation of the 
Emperor, and could not get to Scotland in time. 
Glad am I that the Earl is coming to Canada to 
be Governor-General. He and the Countess will 
do Canada a mighty good. They are on the side 
of God, and righteousness, and the Church. Since 
his appointment — for he intimated at Aberdeen, 
Scotland, when he called upon me, that he was 
to have an important appointment — I have had 
opportunity to say plauditory things of them 
in vast assemblages in Ottawa, Montreal, Toronto, 
London and Grimsby Park. 

In a scrap book in which I put down, hurriedly, 
perhaps, but accurately, my impressions of various 
visits to the White House during my four years 



300 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



pastorate in Washington, I find some notes that 
may be interesting. I transmit them to the 
printed page exactly as I find them written on 
paper : 

" May 1, 1896. Had a long talk this afternoon 
with Mrs. Cleveland at Woodley. I always knew 
she was very attractive, but never knew how wide 
her information was on all subjects. She had her 
three children brought in, and the two elder ones 
sang Easter songs for me. Mrs. Cleveland im- 
presses me as a consecrated Christian mother. 
She passes much of her time with her children, 
and seems more interested in her family than in 
anything else. The first lady of the land, she 
is universally admired. I took tea with her and 
we talked over many subjects. She told me that 
she had joined the church at fourteen years of 
age. Only two joined the church that day, 
a man of eighty years old and herself. She was 
baptised then, not having been baptised in 
infancy. She said she was glad she had not been 
baptised before because she preferred to remember 
her baptism. 

" She said she did not like the great crowds 
attending the church then, because she did not 
like to be stared at as the President's wife. But 
I told her she would get used to that after a while. 
She said she did not mind being stared at on 
secular occasions, but objected to it at religious 
service. She said she had long ago ceased taking 
the Holy Communion at our church because of the 
fact that spectators on that day seemed peculiarly 
anxious to see how she looked at the Communion. 

" My first meeting with Mrs. Cleveland was 
just after her marriage. She was at the depot, 
in her carriage, to see Miss Rose Cleveland, the 
President's sister, off on the train. Dr. Sunder- 
land introduced me at that time, when I was just 



MRS. CLEVELAND 801 



visiting Washington. Mrs. Cleveland invited me 
to take a seat in her carriage. I accepted the 
invitation, and we sat there some time talking 
about various things. I saw, as everyone sees 
who converses with her, that she is a very attrac- 
tive person, though brilliantly attired, unaffected 
in her manner as any mountain lass. 

"March 3, 1897. Made my last call this after- 
noon on Mrs. Cleveland. Found her amid a 
group of distinguished ladies, and unhappy at the 
thought of leaving the White House, which had 
been her home oft and on for nearly eight years. 
Her children have already gone to Princeton, 
which is to be her new home. Sh e i s the same beau- 
tiful, unaffected, and intelligent woman that she 
has always been since I formed her acquaintance. 
She is an inspiration to anyone who preaches, 
because she is such an intense listener. Her 
going from our church here will be a great loss. 
It is wonderful that a woman so much applauded 
and admired should not have been somewhat 
spoiled. More complimentary things have been 
said of her than of any living woman. She in- 
vited me to her home in Princeton, but I do not 
expect ever to get there. Our pleasant acquain- 
tance seems to have come to an end. Washington 
society will miss this queen of amiability and 
loveliness. 

" February 4, 1897. Had one of my talks with 
President Cleveland. 

" As I congratulated him on his coming relief 
from the duties of his absorbing office, he said : 

44 4 Yes ! I am glad of it ; but there are so 
many things I wanted to accomplish which have 
not been accomplished.' 

44 Then he went into extended remarks about 
the failure of the Senate to ratify the Arbitration 
plan. He said that there had been much work 



302 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



and anxiety in that movement that had never 
come to the surface ; how they had waited for 
cablegrams, and how at the same time, although 
he had not expressed it, he had a presentiment 
that through the inaction of the Senate the splen- 
did plan for the pacification of the world's con- 
troversies would be a failure. 

"He dwelt much upon the Cuban embroglio, 
and said that he had told the Committee on 
Foreign Relations that if they waited until spring 
they had better declare war, but that he would 
never be responsible for such a calamity. 

44 He said that he had chosen Princeton for his 
residence because he would find there less social 
obligation and less demand upon his financial 
resources than in a larger place. He said that in 
all matters of national as well as individual im- 
portance it was a consolation to him to know 
that there was an overwhelming Providence. 
When I congratulated him upon his continuous 
good health, notwithstanding the strain upon him 
for the eight years of his past and present ad- 
ministration, he said : 

44 'Yes ! I am a wonder to myself. The gout 
that used to distract me is almost cured, and I am 
in better health than when I entered office. 5 

44 He accounted for his good health by the fact 
that he had occasionally taken an outing of a few 
days on hunting expeditions. 

44 I said to him, 4 Yes ! You cannot think of 
matters of State while out shooting ducks.' 

44 He answered : 

4 4 4 No, I cannot, except when the hunting is 
poor and the ducks do not appear. 5 

44 May 21, 1896. This morning when I entered 
President Cleveland's room at the White House, 
he said : 4 Good morning, I have been thinking of 
you this morning. 5 



PRESIDENT CLEVELAND 303 



" The fact is he had under consideration the 
recall of a minister plenipotentiary from a 
European Government. I had an opportunity of 
saying something about a gentleman who was 
proposed as a substitute for the foreign embassy, 
and the President said my conversation with him 
had given him a new idea about the whole affair, 
and I think it kept the President from making a 
mistake that might have involved our Govern- 
ment in some entanglement with another nation. 

44 The President read me a long letter that he 
had received on the subject. I felt that my call 
had been providential, although I went to see him 
merely to say good-bye before he went away on his 
usual summer trip to Gray Gables, Buzzards Bay, 
Massachusetts. 

44 The President is in excellent health although 
he says he much needs an outing. He is very 
fond of his children, and seemed delighted to hear 
of the good time I had with them at Woodley. 
When I told how Ruth and Esther sang for me 
he said he could not stand hearing them sing, as 
it was so touching it made him cry. I told him 
how the baby, Marian, looked at me very soberly 
and scrutinisingly as long as I held her in my arms, 
but when I handed her to her mother, the baby, 
feeling herself very safe, put out her hands to me 
and wanted to play. But what a season of work 
and anxiety it had been to the President, im- 
portant question after question to be settled. 

44 March 1, 1897, I have this afternoon made my 
last call on President Cleveland. With Dr. 
Sunderland and the officers of our church I went 
to the White House to bid our retiring President 
goodbye. Notwithstanding appointments he had 
made, Thurber, his private secretary, informed us 
that the President could not see us because of a 
sudden attack of rheumatism. But after Thurber 



304 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



had gone into the President's room, he returned 
saying that the President would see Dr. Sunder- 
land and myself. Indeed, afterwards, he saw all 
our church officers. But he could not move from 
his chair. His doctor had told him that if he put 
his foot to the floor he would not be able to attend 
the inauguration of Major McKinley on the 
following Thursday. 

44 After Dr. Sunderland and the officers of the 
church had shaken hands for departure, the 
President said to me : 

" 4 Doctor, remain, I want to see you.' 

44 The door closed, he asked me if I had followed 
the Chinese Immigration Bill that was then under 
consideration. We discussed it fully. The Presi- 
dent read to me the veto which he was writing. 
He stated to me his objection to the bill. Our 
conversation was intimate, but somewhat sad- 
dened by the thought that perhaps we might not 
meet again. With an invitation to come and see 
him at Princeton, we parted. 

" During a conversation of an earlier period at 
the White House, I congratulated the President 
upon his improved appearance since returning 
from one of his hunting expeditions. 

64 4 Oh ! Yes ! ' he said, ' I cannot get daily 
exercise in Washington. It is impossible, so I am 
compelled to take these occasional outings. I 
approach the city on my return with a feeling that 
work must be pulled down over me, like a night- 
cap.' and as he said this he made the motion as of 
someone putting on a cap over his head. 

" I congratulated him on the effect of his 
proclamation on the Monroe Doctrine as it would 
set a precedent, and really meant peace. He 
agreed with me, saying : 

44 4 Yes, but they blame me very much for the 
excitement I have caused in business circles, and 



MONROE DOCTRINE 305 



the failures consequent. But no one failed who 
was doing a legitimate business, only those 
collapsed who were engaged in unwarranted 
speculations. I wish more of those people would 
fail.' 

" 6 Mr. President,' I said, 4 I do not want to pry 
into State secrets, but I would like to know how 
many ducks you did shoot ? ' He laughed, and 
said, 4 Eleven. The papers said thirteen. Indeed, 
the country papers before I began to shoot said I 
had shot a hundred and twenty.' I spoke of the 
brightness and beauty of his children again. I 
remarked that the youngest one, then four months 
old, had the intelligence of a child a year old, and 
the President said : 

44 6 Yes, she is a great pleasure to us, and seems 
to know everything.' 

" March 3, 1896. Started from Washington for 
the great Home Missionary meeting to be held in 
Carnegie Hall, New York, President Cleveland to 
preside. We left on the eleven o'clock train, by 
Pennsylvania railroad. I did not go to the Presi- 
dent's private car until we had been some distance 
on our way, although he told me when I went in 
that he had looked for me at the depot, that I 
might as well have been in his car all the way. No 
one was with him except Mrs. Cleveland and his 
private secretary, Mr. Thurber, who is also 
one of my church. We had an uninterrupted 
conversation. The servants and guards were 
at the front end of the car, and we were at the 
rear. 

" I asked the President if he found it possible 
to throw off the cares of office for a while. He 
laughed, and said : 

4fc 4 They call a trip of this kind a vacation;' 
then with a countenance of sudden gravity he 
added: 4 We no sooner get through one great 



306 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 



question than another comes. 5 It made me think 
of the tension on the President's mind at that 
time. There was the Venezuelan question. There 
were suggestions of war with England, and then 
there was the Cuban matter with suggestions of 
war' with Spain, and ail the time the over- 
shadowing financial questions. 

" During our conversation the President re- 
ferred to the conditions ever and anon inflicted 
upon him by newspaper misrepresentations, par- 
ticularly those of inebriety, of domestic quarrels, 
of turning Mrs. Cleveland out of doors at night 
so that she had to flee for refuge to the house of 
Dr. Sunderland, my pastoral associate, passing 
the night there ; and then the reports that his 
children were deaf and dumb, or imbecile, when 
he knew I had seen them and considered them 
the brightest and healthiest children I had known. 

" All these attacks and falsehoods concerning 
the President and his family I saw hurt him 
as deeply as they would any of us, but he is in 
a position which does not allow him to make 
reply. I assured him that he was only in the line 
of misrepresentation that had assailed all the 
Presidents, George Washington more violently 
than himself, and that the words cynicism, 
jealousy, political hatred, and diabolism in general 
would account for all. I do think, however, 
that the factories of scandal had been particularly 
busy with our beloved President. They were 
running on extra time. 

"If I were asked who among the mighty 
men at Washington has most impressed me 
with elements of power I would say Grover 
Cleveland. 

" June 25, 1896. It seems now that Major 
McKinley, of Canton, Ohio, will be elected Presi- 
dent of the United States. I was in Canton about 



MAJOR McKINLEY 



307 



three weeks ago and called at Major McKinley's 
house. He was just starting from his home to call 
on me. He presided at the first lecture I delivered 
at Canton in 1871. On my recent visit he recalled 
all the circumstances of that lecture, remembering 
that he went to my room afterwards in the hotel, 
and had a long talk with me, which he said made 
a deep impression upon him. 

" My visit at Canton three weeks ago was to 
lecture. Major McKinley attended and came 
upon the platform afterwards to congratulate me. 
He is a Christian man and as genial and lovable 
a man as I ever met." 

" September 21, 1897. Had a most delightful 
interview with President McKinley in the White 
House. 

" I congratulated him on the peaceful opening 
of his administration. He said : 

" c Yes ! I hope it is not the calm before a 
storm.' 

" He said that during the last six weeks at 
least a half million of people had passed before 
him, and they all gave signs of their encourage- 
ment. Especially, he said, the women and 
children looked and acted as though they ex- 
pected better times. 

" The President looked uncommonly well. I 
told him that during the past summer I had 
travelled in many of the states, and that from the 
people everywhere I gathered hopeful feelings. 
I told him that they were expecting great pros- 
perity would come to the country through his 
administration." 

Of course these are merely scraps torn from 
old note-books, but I cannot help commending 
the value of first impressions, of the first-hand 
reports, which are made in this way. There is 
in the unadorned picture of any incident in the 



308 THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE 

past a sort of hallowed character that no ornate 
frame can improve. 

So the pages of these recollections are but a 
string of impressions torn from old note-books 
and diaries. 



From scrap books and other sources, some other 
person may set up the last milestones of my 
journey through life, and think other things of 
enough importance to add to the furlongs I have 
already travelled ; and I give permission to add 
that biography to this autobiography. 




A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF DR. 
TALMAGE'S LAST MILESTONES 

BY 

Mrs. T. DeWitt Talmage 
1898—1902 



THE LAST MILESTONES 



BY 

Mrs. T. DeWitt Talmage 
1898—1902 

The wishes of Doctor Talmage reign paramount 
with me ; otherwise I should not dare to add 
these imperfect memoirs to the finished and elo- 
quent, yet simple, narration of his life-work which 
has just charmed the reader from his own graphic 
pen. Dr. Talmage did not consider his auto- 
biography of vital importance to posterity ; his 
chief concern was for his sermons and other 
voluminous writings. The intimate things of his 
life he held too sacred for public view, and he 
shrank from any intrusion thereupon. His auto- 
biography, therefore, was a concession to his 
family, his friends, and an admiring public. 

So many people all over the world have paid 
homage to his personality, and to his remarkable 
influence, that it seemed evident not only to us 
but to many others, that his own recollections 
would give abiding pleasure. I remember when 
we were travelling to Washington after our mar- 
riage, many men of prominence, who were on the 
Congressional Limited, said to Dr. Talmage : 
44 Doctor, why don't you write your memoirs ? 
They would be especially interesting because you 

3 n 



312 THE LAST MILESTONES 



have bridged two centuries in your life." Then, 
turning to me, they urged me to use my influence 
over him. Later on I did so, placing over his desk 
as a reminder, in big letters, the one word — 
" Autobiography." 

His celebrity was something so unique, and so 
widespread, that it is difficult to write of it under 
the spell which still surrounds his memory. Many 
still remember seeing and feeling almost with awe 
the tremendous grasp of success which Dr. 
Talmage had all his life. A reminiscence of my 
girlhood will be pardoned : My father was his 
great admirer many years before I ever met the 
Doctor. Whenever I went with my father from 
my home in Pittsburg on a visit to New York, 
I was taken over to Brooklyn every Sunday 
morning, unwillingly I must confess, to hear Dr. 
Talmage. At that time there were other things 
which I found more pleasant, for I had many 
young friends to visit and to entertain. However, 
my father's wishes were always uppermost with 
me, and his admiration of the great preacher 
inspired me also with reverence. The Doctor 
soon became one of the great men of my life. 

Dr. Talmage was among the builders of his 
century — a watchman of his period. He was a 
man of philanthropy and enterprise. His popu- 
larity was world-wide ; his extraordinary power 
was exerted over people of all classes and con- 
ditions of life. His broad human intellectuality, 
his constant good humour, his indomitable energy, 
threw a glamour about him. His happy laughter, 
which attested the deep peace of his heart, rang 
everywhere, through his home, in social meetings 
with his friends, in casual encounters even with 
strangers. 

No one who ever knew the Doctor thought of 
him as an old man. He himself almost believed 



DR. AND MRS. T. DE WITT TALMACxE. 



HIS MAGNETIC INFLUENCE 313 



that he would live for ever. " Barring an acci- 
dent," he often said, " I shall live for ever." The 
frankness and buoyancy of his spirit were like 
youth : were the enchantment of his personality. 
Even to-day, when memories begin to grow cold 
in the shadow of his tomb, I am constantly 
reminded by those who remember him of the 
strange magical eternity that was in him. He 
had been so active and busy through all the years 
of his life, keeping pace with each one in its 
seemingly increasing speed, that his heart re- 
mained ever young, living in the glory of things 
that were present, searching with eager vigour 
the horizon of the future. 

Wherever I am, whether in this country or in 
Europe, but especially in England, Dr. Talmage's 
name still brings me remembrance of his dis- 
tinguished career from the men of prominence 
who knew him. They come to me and tell me 
about him with unabated affection for his mem- 
ory. He attracted people by a kind of magnetism, 
and held them afterwards with ties of deep 
friendship and respect. The standards of his 
youth were the standards of his whole life. 

My appreciation of Dr. Talmage in these 
printed pages may not be wholly in harmony with 
his ideas of the privacy of his home life ; but it 
is difficult to think of him at all in any mood less 
intimately reverent. 

As I look over the scrapbook, my scrapbook (as 
he and I always called it), I feel the reserve about 
it that he himself did. My share in the Doctor's 
life, however, belongs to these last years of his 
distinguished career, and I am a contributor by 
special privilege. 

I met him first at East Hampton, Long Island, 
in the summer of 1896, when I was visiting friends. 
The other day, while in reminiscent struggle with 



814 THE LAST MILESTONES 



my scrapbook, I was visited by an old friend of 
Dr. Talmage, who recalled the following incident : 

" It was Dr. Talmage's custom," he said, " to 
take long drives out into the country round about 
Washington. Sometimes he sent for me to drive 
with him. One afternoon I received a specially 
urgent call to be sure and drive with him that 
day, because he had something of great import- 
ance to discuss with me. On our way back, 
towards evening, I asked him what it was. He 
said, 6 1 work hard, very hard. Sometimes I 
come back to my home tired, very tired — lonely. 
I open my door and the house is dark, silent. The 
young folks are out somewhere and there is no 
one to talk to.' Then he became silent himself. 
I said to him : 6 Have you any one in mind whom 
you would like to talk to ? ' 4 I have,' he said 
positively. ' If so,' I said, 6 go to her at once and 
tell her so.' 'I will,' he replied briskly — and the 
next night he went to Pittsburg." 

We were married in January, 1898. 

The first reception given in our home on 
Massachusetts Avenue was in the nature of a 
greeting between the Doctor's friends and myself. 
His own interest in the social side of things in 
Washington was an agreeable interruption rather 
than a part of his own activities. His friends 
were men and women from every highway and 
byway of the world. My father, a man of unusual 
intellectual breadth and heart, had been my com- 
panion of many years, so that I was, to some 
degree, accustomed to mature conceptions of 
people and affairs. But the busy whirl in the life 
of a celebrity was entirely new. 

It was soon quite evident that Dr. Talmage 
relied upon me for the discretionary duties of a 
man besieged by all sorts of demands. From the 
first I feared that Dr. Talmage was over-taxing 



GOSPEL OF CHEERFULNESS 315 



his strength, undiminished though it was at a 
time when most men begin to relinquish their 
burdens. Therefore, I entered eagerly into my 
new duties of relieving the strain he himself did 
not realise. 

His was a full and ample life devoted to the 
gospel of cheerfulness ; and to me, I think, was 
given the best part of it — the autumn. When I 
knew him he had already impressed the wide 
world of his hearers with his striking originality 
of thought and style. He had already established 
a form of preaching that was known by his 
name — Talmagic. Its character was the man 
himself, broad, brilliant, picturesque, keen with 
divine and human facts, told simply, always with 
an uplift of spiritual beauty. 

In March, 1898, Dr. Talmage was called West 
for lecture engagements, and I went with him. 
What strange and delightful events that spring 
tour brought into my life! The Doctor lectured 
every night in what was to me some new and un- 
discovered country. We were always going to 
an hotel, to a train, to an opera house, to another 
hotel, another train, another opera house. Our 
experiences were not less exciting than the trials 
of one-night stands. I had never travelled before 
without a civilised quota of trunks ; but the 
Doctor would have been overwhelmed with them 
in the rush to keep his engagements. So we had 
to be content with our bags. When we were not 
studying time tables the Doctor was striding 
across the land, his Bible under his arm, myself 
in gasping haste at his side. What primitive 
hotels we encountered ; what antiquated trains 
we had to take ! Frequently a milk train was the 
only means of reaching our destination, and, 
alas ! a milk train always leaves at the trying 
hour of 4 a.m. Once we had to ride on a special 



816 THE LAST MILESTONES 



engine ; and frequently the caboose of a freight 
train served our desperate purpose. I began to 
understand something of the loneliness of the 
Doctor's life in experiences like these. 

I insisted upon sitting in the front row at every 
one of Dr. Tannage' s lectures, which I soon knew 
by heart. He used to laugh when I would repeat 
certain parts of them to him. 

Then he would beg me to stay away that I 
might not be bored by listening to the same thing 
over again. I would not have missed one of his 
lectures for the world. These were the great 
moments of his life ; the combined resources of 
his character came to the surface whenever he 
went into the pulpit or on to the platform. These 
were the moments that inspired his life, that gave 
it an ever-increasing vigour of human and divine 
perception. The enthusiasm of his reception by 
the crowds in these theatres keyed me up so that 
each new audience was a new pleasure. There 
were no preliminaries to his lectures. Frequently 
he had time only to drop his hat and step on to 
the stage as he had come from the train. After 
every lecture it was his custom to shake hands 
with hundreds of people who came up to the plat- 
form. This was very exhausting, but these were 
to him the moments of fruition — the spiritual 
harvest of the Christian seeds he had scattered 
over the earth. They were wonderful scenes, 
dramatic in their earnestness, remarkable in the 
evidence they brought out of his universal 
influence upon the hearts of men and women. 
Everywhere the same testimony prevailed : 

" You saved my father, God bless you ! " 
" You saved my brother, thank God ! " " You 
made a good woman of me ! " " You gave me 
my first start in life ! " In these words they told 
him their gratitude, as they grasped his hand. 

On these occasions the Doctor's face was 



HIS SPIRITUAL HARVEST 817 



wonderful to see as, with the silent pressure of 
his hand, he looked into the eyes that were filled 
with tears. Sometimes people would come to me 
and whisper the same truths about him, and when 
I would tell him, his answer was characteristic : 
" Eleanor, this is what gives me strength. It is 
worth living to hear people tell me these things." 

Dr. Talmage's instincts were big, evangelical 
impulses. I often used to urge him to relinquish 
his pastorate ; but he would reply that after all 
the Church was his candlestick ; that he must have 
a place to hold his candle while he preached to a 
world of all nations. Yet he often said he would 
rather have been an unfettered evangelist, bent 
on saving the world, than the pastor of any one 
flock or church. To preach to the people was the 
breath of his life. It was the restless energy of his 
soul that kept him for ever young. He would put 
all his strength into every sermon he preached, 
and every lecture he delivered. 

Dr. Talmage had absolutely no personal vanity. 
He was a man absorbed in ideas, indifferent to 
appearances. He lived in the opportunities of his 
heart and mind to help others ; although he had 
been one of the most tried of men, he had never 
spared himself to help others. He never lost 
faith in anyone. There were many shrewd 
enough to realise this characteristic in him, who 
would put a finger on his heart and draw out of 
him all he had to give. 

On one occasion we were travelling through 
Iowa, when a big snow storm made it evident 
that we could not make connections to meet an 
engagement he had made to lecture that evening in 
Marietta, Ohio. He had just said to me that after 
all he was glad, because he was very tired and 
needed the rest. Will Carleton was on the same 
train, bound for Zanesville, Ohio, to give a lecture 



318 THE LAST MILESTONES 



that night. He was very much afraid that he, 
too, would miss his engagement. He asked the 
Doctor to telegraph to the railroad officials to 
hold the limited at Chicago Junction, which the 
Doctor did. The result was that we were whisked 
in a carriage across Chicago and whirled on a 
special car to the junction, where the limited was 
held for us, much to the disgust of the other 
passengers. 

He saw the mercy of God in every calamity, 
the beauty of faith in Him in every mood of 
earth or sky. One spring day we were sitting in 
the room of a friend's house. There were flowers 
in the room, and Dr. Talmage loved these children 
of nature. He always said that flowers were 
appropriate for all occasions. Some one said to 
him, " Doctor, how have you kept your faith in 
people, your sweet interpretation of human 
nature, in spite of the injustice you have sometimes 
been shown ? " Looking at a great bunch of 
sweet peas on the table, he said : " Many years 
ago I learned not to care what the world said of 
me so long as I myself knew I was right and fair, 
and how can one help but believe when the good 
God above us makes such beautiful things as 
these flowers ? " 

His creed, as I learned it, was perfect faith, and 
the universal commands of human nature to live 
and let live. Although I was destined to share less 
than five years of his life, there was in the whole of 
it no chapter or incident with which he did not 
acquaint me. He was not a man of theory. No 
one could live near him without awe of his 
genius. 

We returned to Washington after this spring 
lecturing tour, where the Doctor resumed his 
preaching twice on Sunday, and his mid-week 
lecture, till June. Then, according to Dr. Talmage's 



SUMMER VACATION 319 



custom, we went to Saratoga for a few weeks 
before the crowds came for the season. The 
Doctor found the Saratoga Springs beneficial and 
made it a rule to go there for a time each summer. 
On July 3, 1898, we started for the Pacific coast 
on what Dr. Talmage called a summer vacation. 
On his desk there was always a great number of 
invitations to preach and lecture awaiting his 
acknowledgment or refusal. The greatest problem 
of the last years of his life was how to find time 
for all the things he was asked to do and wanted 
to do. In vain I tried to make him conform to the 
usual plans of a summer outing. He asked me if 
he might take a " few lectures " on our route to 
California, and he did, but he always managed to 
slip in a few extra ones without my knowledge. 
When I would protest about these additional 
engagements he would say that the people wanted 
to hear him, that they were new people he had never 
seen, which meant more to him than anything else ; 
then, of course, I had to yield my judgment. 

It had been Dr. Ta Image's original plan to go 
to Europe during this first summer of our marriage, 
but the outbreak of the Spanish war made him 
afraid he might not be able to get back in time 
for his church work in October. Although os- 
tensibly this was a vacation trip, it was so only 
in the spirit and gaiety of the Doctor's moods. 
Three times a week Dr. Talmage lectured, and 
preached once, sometimes twice, every Sunday. 
From Cincinnati westward to Denver, we zig- 
zagged over the country, keeping in constant 
pursuit of the Doctor's engagements. No argu- 
ment on our part could alter these working plans 
which my husband had made before we left 
Washington. He was so happy, however, in the 
midst of his energies, that we forgot the exertion 
of his labours. 



320 THE LAST MILESTONES 



The three places where, by agreeable lapses, 
Dr. Talmage really enjoyed a rest, were Colorado 
Springs, the Yellowstone Park, and Coronado 
Beach in California. Aside from these points, we 
were travelling incessantly in the Doctor's re- 
flected glory, which was our vacation, but by no 
means his. While at Colorado Springs, where we 
stayed two weeks, Dr. Talmage preached once, 
and once in Denver, but he did not lecture. 

In Salt Lake City the Doctor preached in the 
Tabernacle, the throne room of polygamy, that 
he had so often attacked in previous years. 
That was a remarkable feature of these last 
milestones of his life, that all conflicts were 
forgotten in a universal acknowledgment of his 
evangelism. His grasp of every subject was 
always close to the hearts of others, and it was 
instinctive, not studied. 

During our visit in the West, he talked much of 
the effect of the Spanish war, regarding our 
victory in Cuba and the Philippines as an advance 
to civilisation. 

We entered the Yellowstone Park at Minado 
and drove through the geyser country. We 
stopped at D welly's, a little log-cabin famous to 
all travellers, just before entering the park. On 
leaving there, we had been told that there were 
occasional hold-ups of parties travelling in private 
vehicles, as we were. The following day, while 
passing along a lonely road, a man suddenly 
leaped from the bushes and seized the bridles of 
the horses. The Doctor appeared to be terribly 
frightened, and we were all very much excited 
when we saw that the driver had missed his aim 
when he fired at the bandit. The robber was of the 
appearance approved in dime novels ; he wore a 
sacking over his head with eye-holes cut in it 
through which he could see, and looked in all 



GOLD DIGGERS FROM KLONDIKE 321 



other respects a disreputable cut-throat. Just as 
we were about to surrender our jewels and money, 
Dr. Talmage confessed that he had arranged the 
hold-up for our benefit, and that it was a practical 
joke of his. He was always full of mischief, and 
took delight in surprising people. 

On Sunday Dr. Talmage preached in the parlours 
of the Fountain Hotel. The rooms were crowded 
with the soldiers who were stationed in the park. 
The Doctor's sermon was on garrison duty ; he 
said afterwards that he found it extremely diffi- 
cult to talk there because the rooms were small, 
and the people were too close to him. We paid 
a visit to Mr. Henderson, who was an official of 
the Yellowstone Park at that time, and whose 
brother was Speaker of the House in Washington. 
He begged Dr. Talmage to use his influence with 
members of Congress to oppose a project which 
had been started, to build a trolley line through 
the Yellowstone Park. The Doctor promised to 
do so, and I think the trolley line has not been 
built. We left the Yellowstone Park, at Cinabar, 
and went direct to Seattle. During our stay in 
Seattle the whole town was excited one morning 
by the arrival of a ship from the Klondike, that 
region of golden romance and painful reality. 
The Doctor and I went down to the wharf to see 
the great ship disembark these gold-diggers ; but 
for several hours the four hundred passengers 
had been detained on board because $24,000 in 
gold dust, carried by two miners, had been 
stolen ; and though a search had been instituted, 
to which everyone had been compelled to submit, 
no clue to the thief had been found. Dr. Talmage 
was profoundly impressed by the misfortune of 
these two men, who after months of exposure and 
fatigue were now obliged to walk ashore penniless. 
A number of these four hundred passengers had 



322 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



brought back an aggregate of about $4,000,000 
from the Klondike; but many among them had 
brought back only disappointment, and their 
haggard faces were pitiful to see ; indeed, the 
Doctor told me that out of the thousands who 
went fortune hunting to Alaska, only about 3 per 
cent, came back richer than when they started. 

In the early part of September Dr. Talmage 
lectured in San Francisco on International Policies. 
His admiration of the Czar's manifesto for dis- 
armament of the nations was unbounded, and he 
emphasised it whenever he appeared in public. 
He prophesied the millennium as if he looked 
forward to personal experiences of it ; this came 
from his remarkable confidence in the life forces 
nature had given him. At Coronado Beach we 
determined upon a rest for two weeks ; but the 
Doctor could in no wise be induced to forego his 
lecture at San Diego. A pleasant visit to Los 
Angeles was followed by a delightful sojourn of a 
few days at Santa Barbara, the floral paradise of 
the Golden Coast ; here the Doctor was met at 
the station by carriages, and we were literally 
smothered in flowers ; even our rooms in the hotel 
were banked high with roses. In the afternoon 
we accepted an invitation to drive through Santa 
Barbara, hoping against hope that we might do 
so inconspicuously. But the same flower-laden 
carriages came for us, and we were driven through 
the city like a miniature flower parade. Much to 
the Doctor's regret he was followed about like a 
circus ; but his courtesy never failed. 

On our route East we again stopped in San 
Francisco. An announcement had been made 
that Dr. Talmage would preach for the Sunday 
evening service at Calvary Presbyterian Church, 
on the corner of Powell and Geary Streets. Never 
had I seen such a crowd before. As we made our 



QUALITY OF HIS APPRECIATION 323 



way to the church, we found the adjoining streets 
packed so solidly with people that we had to call 
a policeman to make an opening for us. Once 
inside, we saw the church rapidly filling, till at 
last, as a means of protection, the doors were 
locked against the surging crowd. But Dr. 
Talmage had scarcely begun his sermon when the 
doors were literally broken down by the crowd 
outside. Quick to see the danger the Doctor sent 
out word to the people that he would speak in 
Union Square immediately after the church 
service. This had the desired effect, and the great 
crowd waited patiently for him a block away till 
nine o'clock. It was rather a raw evening because 
of a fog that had come up from the sea, and for 
this reason the Doctor asked permission to keep 
his hat on while he talked from the band stand. 
It was the first time I ever heard him speak out 
of doors, and I was amazed to hear how clearly 
every word travelled, and with what precision 
his voice carried the exact effect. It was a coinci- 
dence that the theme of his sermon should have 
been, " There is plenty of room in Heaven." 

The tremendous enthusiasm, the almost wor- 
shipful interest with which he was received, could 
easily have spoiled any man, but with Dr. Tal- 
mage such an ovation as we had witnessed seemed 
only to intensify the simplicity of his character. 
He lost his identity in the elements of inspiration, 
and when he had finished preaching it was not 
to himself but to the power that had been given 
him, he gave all the credit of his influence. He 
was always simple, direct, unpretentious. 

During a short stay in Chicago Dr. Talmage 
preached in his son's church, and then hurried 
home to begin his duties in his own church. Duty 
was the Doctor's master key ; with it he locked 
himself away from the mediocre, and unlocked 



324 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



his way to ultimate freedom of religious impulse. 
For a long while he had formed a habit of preach- 
ing without recompense, as he would have desired 
to do all his life, because he felt that the power of 
preaching was a gift from God, a trust to be 
transmitted without cost to the people. He never 
missed preaching on Sunday, paying his own 
expenses to whatever pulpit he was invited to 
occupy. There were so many invitations that 
he was usually able to choose. It was this con- 
viction that led to his ultimate resignation from 
his church in Washington, that he might be free 
to expound the Scriptures wherever he was. 

He was always so happy it was hard to believe 
that he was overworking ; yet I feared his labour 
of love would end in exhaustion and possible 
illness. Everything in the world was beautiful 
to him, and yet beauty was not a matter of 
externals with him. It radiated from him, even 
when it was not about him. Especially was this 
noticeable when we were away together on one 
of his short lecturing trips. At these times we 
were quite alone, and then, without interruptions, 
in the sequestered domain of some country hotel 
he would admit me into the wonderland of his 
inner hopes, his plans for the future, his ideas of 
life and people and happiness. Once we were 
staying in one of these country hotels obviously 
pretentious, but very uncomfortable — the sort 
of hotel where the walls of the room oppress you, 
and the furniture astonishes you, and there are 
no private baths. He sat down in the largest 
chair, literally beaming with delight. 

" Isn't it beautiful ? " he said ; " now I take 
my home with me ; before I used to be so much 
alone. Now I have someone to talk to." 

There was nothing comparative in his happi- 
ness ; everything was made perfect for him by 



SENATOR FAULKNER 325 



the simplicity of his appreciation. I used to look 
forward to these trips as one might look forward 
to an excursion into some new and unexpected 
transport of existence, for he always had new 
wonders of heart and mind to reveal in these 
obscure byways we explored together. They 
were all too short, and yet too full for time to 
record them in a diary. These were the hours 
that one puts away in the secret chamber of un- 
written and untold feeling. I turn again to the 
pages of our scrap book, as one turns to the 
dictionary, for reserve of language. 

In November of 1898 I find there a clipping 
that reminds me of the day Dr. Talmage and I 
spent at the home of Senator Faulkner, in 
Martinsburg, West Virginia. The Anglo-American 
Commission was in session in Washington then, 
and during the following winter. The Joint High 
Commission was the official title, and we were 
invited by Senator Faulkner with these men to 
get a glimpse of that rare Americanism known the 
world over as Southern hospitality. The foreign 
members of the Commission were Lord Herschel, 
Sir Wilfred Laurier, Sir Louis Davis, and Sir 
Richard Cartwright. Our host was one of the 
Americans on the Commission. 

We left Washington about noon, lunched on 
the train, and reached the old ancestral home in 
a snow storm. All of the available carriages and 
carry-alls were at our disposal, however, and we 
were quickly driven to the warm fireside of a true 
Southerner, who, more than any other kind of 
man, knows how to brand the word "Home" upon 
your memory. We dined with true Southern 
sumptuousness. Never shall I forget the resigned 
and comfortable expression of that little roast 
pig as it was laid before us. To the Englishmen 
it was a rare chance to understand the cordial 



326 THE FIRST MILESTONE 



relations between England and America, in an 
atmosphere of Colonial splendour. The house 
itself has not undergone any change since it was 
built ; it stands a complete example of an old 
ancestral estate. As we were leaving, our host 
insisted that no friend should leave his house 
without tasting the best egg-nog ever made in 
Virginia. The doctor and I drove to the station 
in a carriage with Lord Herschel. He was a man 
of great reserve and high breeding. On the way 
he showed us a letter that he had just received 
from his daughter, a little girl in England, telling 
him to be sure and come home for the Christmas 
holidays, and not to let those rich Americans 
keep him away. 

This was the beginning of a series of dinners 
given by members of the Joint High Commission 
in Washington during the winter, to which we 
were often invited. A few months later Lord 
Herschel died in Washington. Dr. Talmage was 
almost the last man to see him alive. He called 
at his hotel to invite him to stay at his house, but 
he was then too ill to be moved. 

During the early Fall of 1898 the Doctor 
lectured at Annapolis. It was his first visit to the 
old historic town, and he was received with all 
the honour of the place. We were the guests of 
Governor Lowndes at the executive mansion, 
where we were entertained in the evening at 
dinner. Just before the Christmas holidays, Dr. 
Talmage made a short lecturing trip into Canada, 
and I went with him ; it was my privilege to 
accompany him everywhere, even for a brief 
journey of a day. 

In Montreal, while sitting in a box with some 
Canadian friends, during one of the Doctor's 
lectures, they told me how deep was the affection 
and regard for him in England. 



ENGLISH RECEPTION 



327 



" Wait till you see how the English people 
receive him," they said ; 44 you will be surprised 
at the hold that he has on them over there." 
The following year I went to England with him, 
and experienced with pride and pleasure the 
truth of what they had said. 

The end of our first year together seemed to be 
only the prelude to a long lifetime of companion- 
ship and happiness, without age, without sorrow, 
without discord. 



THE SECOND MILESTONE 



1899—1900 

In his study no wasted hours ever entered. With 
the exception of the stenographer and his im- 
mediate family no one was admitted there. It 
was his eventful laboratory where he conceived 
the greatest sermons of his period. I merely 
quote the opinions of others, far more important 
than my own, when I say this. It is a sort of 
haunted room to-day which I enter not with 
any fear, but I can never stay in it very long. 
It has no ghostly associations, it is too full 
of vital memories for that ; but it is a room 
that mystifies and silences me, not with mere 
regrets, for that is sorrow, and there is nothing 
sad about the place to me. I can scarcely convey 
the impression ; it is as though I expected to see 
him come in at the door at any moment and hear 
him call my name. The room is empty, but it 
makes me feel that he has only just stepped out 
for a little while. The study is at the top of the 
house, a long, wide, high-ceilinged room with 
many windows, from which the tops of trees sway 
gently in the breeze against the sky above and 
beyond. I spent a great deal of time with him 
in it. Sometimes he would talk with me there 
about the themes of his sermons which were always 
drawn from some need in modern life. 



328 



PERSONAL HABITS 



829 



With the Bible open before him he would seek 
for a text. 

" After forty years of preaching about all the 
wonders of this great Book," he would say, 46 I 
am often puzzled where to choose the text most 
fitting to my sermon." 

His habits were methodical in the extreme ; his 
time punctually divided by a fixed system of in- 
valuable character. His inspirations were part of 
his eternal spirit, but he lived face to face 
with time, obedient to the law of its precision. 
I think of him always as of one whose genius 
was unknown to himself. 

We could always tell the time of day by the 
Doctor's habits. They were as regular as a clock 
that never varies. At 7.30 to the second he was 
at the breakfast table. It was exactly one o'clock 
when he sat down to dinner. At 6.30 his supper 
was before him. Some of our household would 
have preferred dining in the evening, but in that 
case the Doctor would have dined alone, which 
was out of the question. 

Every day of his life, excepting Friday, 
Saturday and Sunday, the Doctor walked five 
miles. In bad weather he went out muffled and 
booted like a sailor on a stormy sea. His favourite 
walk was always from our house to the Capitol, 
around the Library of Congress and back. He 
never varied this walk for he had no bump of 
locality, and he was afraid of losing his way. If 
he strayed from the beaten path into any one 
of the beautiful squares in Washington he was 
sure to have to ask a policeman how to get 
home. 

Fridays and Saturdays Dr. Talmage spent en- 
tirely in his study, dictating his sermons. How 
many miles he walked these days he himself 
never knew, but all day long he tramped back 



330 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



and forth the length of his study, composing and 
expounding in a loud voice the sermon of the 
week. He could be heard all over the house. We 
had a new servant once who came rushing down- 
stairs to my room one morning in great fear. 

44 Mrs. Talmage, ma'am, there is a crazy man in 
that room on the top floor," she cried. She had 
not seen nor heard the Doctor, and did not know 
that that room was his study. On these week- 
end days we always drove after dark. An open 
carriage was at the door by 8 o'clock, and no 
matter what the weather might be we had our 
drive. In the dead of winter, wrapped in furs and 
rugs, we have driven in an open carriage just as 
if it were summer. Usually we went up on Capitol 
Hill because the Doctor was fond of the view 
from that height. 

My share in the Doctor's labours were those of 
a watchful companion, who appreciated his genius, 
but could give it no greater light than sympathy 
and admiration. Occasionally he would ask me 
to select the hymns for the services, and this I 
did as well as I could. Sunday was the great 
day of the week to me. It has never been the same 
since the Doctor died. Our friendships were 
always mutual, and we shared them with equal 
pleasure. The Doctor's friendship with President 
McKinley was an intimate mutual association 
that ended only with the great national disaster 
of the President's assassination. Very often, 
we walked over in the morning to the White House 
to call on the President for an informal chat. 
A little school friend, who was visiting my daughter 
that winter, told my husband how anxious she 
was to see a President. 

" Come on with me, I will show you a real 
President," said Dr. Talmage one morning, and 
over we went to the White House. While we 



AT THE WHITE HOUSE 381 



were talking with the President, Mrs. McKinley 
came in from a drive and sent word that she 
wished to see us. 

" I want to show you the President's library 
and bedroom," she said, " that you may see how 
a President lives." Then she took us upstairs 
and showed us their home. 

While we did not keep open house, there was 
always someone dropping in to take dinner or 
supper informally, and I was somewhat sur- 
prised when Dr. Talmage told me one day 
that he thought we ought to give some sort 
of entertainment in return for our social obliga- 
tions. It was not quite like him to remember or 
think of such things. On January 23, 1899, we 
gave an evening reception, to which over 300 
people came. It was the first social affair of 
consequence the Doctor had ever given in his 
house in Washington. 

My husband's memory for names was so un- 
certain that when he introduced me to people he 
tactfully mumbled. On this occasion Senator 
Gorman very kindly stood near me to identify 
the people for me. I remember a very dapper, 
very little man in evening clothes, who was 
passed on to me by the Doctor, with the usual 
unintelligible introduction, and I had just begun 
to make myself agreeable when, pointing to a 
medal on his coat, the little man said : 

" I am the only woman in the United States 
who has been honoured with one of these 
medals." 

I was very much mystified and looked up 
helplessly at Senator Gorman, who relieved me 
at once by saying, " Mrs. Talmage, this is the 
celebrated Dr. Mary Walker, of whom you have 
heard so often," 

It was difficult for Dr. Talmage to assimilate the 



332 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



social obligations of life with the broader demands 
of his life mission, which seemed to constantly 
extend and increase in scope into the far distances 
of the world. More and more evident it became 
that the candlestick of his religious doctrine 
could no longer be maintained in one church, or 
in one pulpit. The necessity of breaking engage- 
ments out of town so as to be in Washington 
every Sunday became irksome to him. He felt 
that he could do better in the purposes of his use- 
fulness as a preacher if he were to bear the candle 
of his Gospel in a candlestick he could carry 
everywhere himself. I confess that I was not sorry 
when he reached this decision and submitted his 
resignation to the First Presbyterian Church in 
the spring of 1899, after our return from a short 
vacation in Florida. 

On our trip South I remember Admiral Schley 
was on the train with us part of the way. The 
Admiral told the Doctor the whole story of the 
Santiago victory, and commented upon the 
official investigation of the affair. My husband 
was very fond of him, and his comment was 
summed up in his reassuring answer to the 
Admiral — 44 But you were there." 

It was during our stay in Florida that Dr. 
Talmage and Joseph Jefferson, the actor, renewed 
their acquaintance. The Doctor never saw him 
act because he had made it a rule after he entered 
the ministry in his youth never to go to the 
theatre to see a play. In crossing the ocean he 
had frequently appeared with stage celebrities, 
at the usual entertainments given on board 
ship for the benefit of seamen, and in this way 
had made some friends among actors. He was 
particularly fond of Madame Modjeska, whom he 
had met on the steamer, and whose character 
and spirit he greatly admired. 



JOSEPH JEFFERSON 333 



Jefferson was a great fisherman, and most of his 
day was spent on the water or on the pier. There 
we used to meet him, and he and Dr. Talmage 
would exchange reminiscences, serious and ludi- 
crous. One of the Doctor's favourite stories was 
an account of a terrific fight he saw in India, 
between a mongoose and a cobra. Mr. Jefferson 
also had a story, a sort of parody of this, 
which described a man in delirium tremens 
watching in imaginary terror a similar fight. 
Years before this, when the Doctor had delivered 
his famous sermon in Brooklyn against the stage, 
Jefferson was among the actors who went to 
hear him. Recalling this incident, Mr. Jefferson 
said : — 

44 When I entered that church to hear your 
sermon, Doctor, I hated you. When I left the 
church, I loved you." He talked very little of 
the theatre, and seemed to regard his stage 
career with less importance than he did his love 
of painting. He never grew tired of this subject. 

When we were leaving Palm Beach, Mr. 
Jefferson said to me, 44 I know Dr. Talmage won't 
come and see me act, but when I am in Washing- 
ton I will send you a box, and I hope the Doctor 
will let you come." 

Dr. Talmage' s resignation from his church in 
Washington took place in March, 1899. I quote 
his address to the Presbytery because it was a 
momentous event occurring in the gloaming of 
what seemed to us all, then, the prime of his life : 

"March 3, 1899. 

"To the Session of the First Presbyterian Church 
of Washington. 

"Dear Friends — 

"The increasing demands made upon me by 
religious journalism, and the continuous calls for 



334 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



more general work in the cities, have of late years 
caused frequent interruption of my pastoral 
work. It is not right that this condition of affairs 
should further continue. Besides that, it is 
desirable that I have more opportunity to meet 
face to face, in religious assemblies, those in this 
country and in other countries to whom I have, 
through the kindness of the printing press, been 
permitted to preach week by week, and without 
the exception of a week, for about thirty years. 
Therefore, though very reluctantly, I have con- 
cluded, after serving you nearly four years in 
the pastoral relation, to send this letter of 
resignation. . . . 

"T. DeWitt Talmage." 

I had rather expected that the Doctor's release 
from his church would have had the desired 
effect of reducing his labours, but he never accom- 
plished less than the allotment of his utmost 
strength. Rest was a problem he never solved, 
and he did not know what it meant. My life had 
not been idle by any means, but it seemed to me 
that the Doctor's working hours were witjiout 
end. When I told him this, he would say :\- 

" Why, Eleanor, I am not working hard \at 
all now. This is very tame compared to wha 
I have done in the years gone by." 

His weekly sermon was always put in the mail 
on Saturday night, as also his weekly editorials. 
Sunday the sermon was preached, and on 
Monday morning the syndicate of newspapers 
in this country printed it. He made always two 
copies of his sermon. One he sent to his editorial 
offices in New York, the other was delivered to 
the Washington Post. I was told a little while 
ago that a prominent preacher called on the 
editor of this newspaper and asked him to publish 



ANDREW CARNEGIE 



335 



one of his own sermons. This was refused, even 
when the aforesaid preacher offered to pay for 
the privilege. 

" But you print Talmage's sermons ! " said 
the preacher. 

" We do," replied the editor, " because we 
find that our readers demand them. We tried 
to do without them, but we could not." 

Dr. Talmage's acquaintance with men of 
national reputation was very wide, but he never 
seemed to consider their friendship greater than 
any others. He was a great hero worshipper him- 
self, always impressed by a man who had done 
something in the world. There was a great deal 
of praise being bestowed about this time on Mr. 
Carnegie's library gifts. Dr. Talmage admired 
the Scottish-American immensely, having formed 
his acquaintance while crossing the ocean. Five 
or six years later, during the winter of 1899, the 
Doctor met him in one of the rooms of the White 
House. He tells this anecdote in his own words, 
as follows : — 

" I was glad I was present that day, when Mr. 
Andrew Carnegie decided upon the gift of a library 
to the city of Washington. I was in one of the 
rooms of the White House talking with Governor 
Lowndes, of Maryland, and Mr. B. H. Warner, of 
Washington, who was especially interested in city 
libraries. Mr. Carnegie entered at the opposite 
end of the room. We greeted each other with 
heartiness, not having met since we crossed the 
ocean together some time before. I asked Mr. 
Carnegie to permit me to introduce him to some 
friends. After each introduction the conversa- 
tion immediately turned upon libraries, as Mr. 
Carnegie was then constantly presenting them in 
this and other lands. Before the conversation 
ended that day, Mr. Carnegie offered $250,000 



336 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



for a Washington library. I have always felt very 
happy at having had anything to do with that 
interview, which resulted so gloriously." 

Dr. Talmage's opinions upon the aftermath of 
the Spanish war were widely quoted at this 
time. 

" The fact is this war ought never to have 
occurred," he said. " We have had the greatest 
naval officer of this century, Admiral Schley, 
assailed for disobeying orders, and General Shafter 
denounced for being too fat and wanting to 
retreat, and General Wheeler attacked because of 
something else. We are all tired of this investi- 
gating business. I never knew a man in Church 
or State to move for an investigating committee 
who was not himself somewhat of a hypocrite. 
The question is what to do with the bad job we 
have on hand. I say, educate and evangelise 
those islands." 

As he wrote he usually talked, and these words 
are recollections of the subjects he talked over 
with me in his quieter study hours. They were 
virile talks, abreast of the century hurrying to its 
close, full of cheerfulness, faith, and courage for 
the future. 

He was particularly distressed and moved by 
the death of Chief Justice Field, in April, 1899. 
It was his custom to read his sermons to me in his 
study before preaching. He chose for his sermon 
on April 16, the decease of the great jurist, and 
his text was Zachariah xi, 2 : 44 Howl fir tree, for 
the cedar has fallen." Many no doubt remember 
this sermon, but no one can realise the depths of 
feeling with which the Doctor read it to me in the 
secret corner of his workroom at home. But his 
heart was in every sermon. He said when he 
resigned from his church : — 

44 The preaching of the Gospel has always been 



A TEMPERANCE REFORMER 337 



my chosen work, I believe I was called to it, and 
I shall never abandon it." 

During this season in Washington we gave a few 
formal dinners. My husband wished it, and he was 
a cheerful, magnetic host, though he accepted few 
invitations to dinner himself. No wine was served 
at these dinners, and yet they were by no means 
dull or tiresome. Our guests were men of ideas, 
men like Justice Brewer, Speaker Reed, Senator 
Burrows, Justice Harlan, Vice-President Fair- 
banks, Governor Stone, and Senators who have 
since become members of the old guard. It was 
said in Washington at the time that Dr. Tal- 
mage's dinner parties were delightful, because 
they were ostensible opportunities to hear men 
talk who had something to say. The Doctor was 
liberal-minded about everything, but his stan- 
dards of conduct were the laws of his life that no 
one could jeopardise or deny. 

A very prominent society woman came to Dr. 
Talmage one day to ask the favour that he preach 
a temperance sermon for the benefit of Sir Wilfrid 
Laurier, whom she wanted to interest in temper- 
ance legislation. She promised to bring him to 
the Doctor's church for that purpose. 

" Madame, I shall be very glad to have Sir 
Wilfrid Laurier attend my church," said the 
Doctor, " but I never preach at anybody. Your 
request is something I cannot agree to." The 
lady was a personal friend, and she persisted. 
Finally the Doctor said to her : 

" Mrs. G , my wife and I are invited to 

meet Sir Wilfrid Laurier at a dinner in your house 
next week. Will you omit the wines at that 
dinner ? " The lady admitted that that would be 
impossible. 

" Then you see, Madame, how difficult it would 
be for me to alter my principles as a preacher." 

z 



338 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



In May, 1899. Dr. Talmage and I left Washington 
and went to East Hampton — alone. Contrary to 
his usual custom of closing his summer home 
between seasons, the Doctor had allowed aminister 
and his family to live there for three months. 
Diphtheria had developed in the family during 
that time and the Doctor ordered everything in 
the house to be burned, and the walls scraped. 
So the whole house had to be refurnished, and the 
Doctor and I together selected the furniture. It 
was a joyous time, it was like redecorating our 
lives with a new charm and sentiment that was 
intimately beautiful and refreshing. I remember 
the tenderness with which the Doctor showed me 
a place on the door of the barn where his son 
DeWitt, who died, had carved his initials. He 
would never allow that spot to be touched, it was 
sacred to the memory of what was perhaps 
the most absorbing affection of his life. He 
always called East Hampton his earthly paradise, 
which to him meant a busy Utopia. He was very 
fond of the sea bathing, and his chief recreation 
was running on the beach. He was 65 years old, 
yet he could run like a young man. These few 
weeks were a memorable vacation. 

In June, Dr. Talmage made an engagement to 
attend the 60th commencement exercises of the 
Erskine Theological College in Due West, South 
Carolina. This is the place where secession was 
first planned, as it is also the oldest Presbyterian 
centre in the United States. We were the guests 
of Dr. Grier, the president of the college. It was 
known that Rev. David P. Pressly, Presbyterian 
patriarch and graduate of this college, had been 
my father's pastor in Pittsburg, and this associa- 
tion added some interest to my presence in Due 
West with the Doctor. The Rev. E. P. Lindsay, 
my brother's pastor in Pittsburg, had also been 



« BETTER THAN EVER ! " 339 



born there, and his mother, when I met her in 
1899, was still a vigorous Secessionist. Her 
greatest disappointment was the fact that her 
son had abandoned the sentiments of Secession 
and had gone to preach in a Northern church. 
She told us that she had once hidden Jefferson 
Davis in her house for three days. Due West was 
a quiet little village inhabited by some rich people 
who lived comfortably on their plantations. The 
graduating class of the college were entertained 
at dinner by Dr. Grier and the Doctor. There was 
a great deal of comment upon the physical vigour 
and strength of Dr. Talmage's address, most of 
which reached me. A gentleman who was present 
was reminded of the remarkable energy of the 
Rev. Dr. Pressly, who preached for over fifty 
years, and was married three times. When 
asked about his health, Dr. Pressly always 
throughout his life made the same reply, " Never 
better ; never better." After he had won his 
third wife, however, he used to reply to this 
question with greater enthusiasm than before, 
saying, "Better than ever; better than ever." 
Another resident of Due West, who had heard 
both the Booths in their prime, said, "Talmage 
has more dramatic power than I ever saw in 
Booth." This visit to Due West will always 
remain in my memory as full of sunshine and 
warmth as the days were themselves. 

We returned to East Hampton for a few days, and 
on July 4, 1899, the Doctor delivered an oration 
to an immense crowd in the auditorium at Ocean 
Grove. This was the beginning of a summer 
tour of Chautauquas, first in Michigan, then up 
the lakes near Mackinaw Island, and later to 
Jamestown, New York. 

In the Fall of 1899 we made a trip South, 
including Nashville, Memphis, Chattanooga, Bir- 



340 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



mingham, and New Orleans. One remarkable 
feature of Dr. Talmage's public life was the way in 
which he was sought as the man of useful 
opinions upon subjects that were not related to 
the pulpit. He was always being interviewed 
upon political and local issues, and his views were 
scattered broadcast, as if he were himself an 
official of national affairs. He never failed to be 
ahead of the hour. He regarded the affairs of 
men as the basis of his evangelical purpose. The 
Spanish war ended, and his views were sought 
about the future policy in the East. The Boer 
war came, and his opinions of that issue were 
published. Nothing moved in or out of the world 
of import, during these last milestones of his life, 
that he was not asked about its coming and its 
going. His readiness to penetrate the course of 
events, to wrap them in the sacred veil of his own 
philosophy and spiritual fabric, combined to 
make him one of the foremost living characters 
of his time. 

Dr. Talmage was the most eager human being I 
ever knew, eager to see, to feel the heart of all 
humanity. I remember we arrived in Birmingham, 
Alabama, the day following the disaster that 
visited that city after the great cyclone. The 
first thing the Doctor did on our arrival was 
to get a carriage and drive through those sections 
of the city that had suffered the most. It was a 
gruesome sight, with so many bodies lying about 
the streets awaiting burial. But that was his 
grasp of life, his indomitable energy, always alert 
to see and hear the laws of nature at close range. 

We were entertained a great deal through the 
South, where I believe my husband had the 
warmest friends and a more cordial appreciation 
than in any other part of the country. There was 
no lack of excitement in this life that I was leading 



THE PAN-PRESBYTERIAN COUNCIL 341 



at the elbow of the great preacher, and sometimes 
he would ask me if the big crowds did not tire 
me. To him they were the habit of his daily life, 
a natural consequence of his industry. However, 
I think he always found me equal to them, always 
happy to be near him where I could see and hear 
all. 

In October of this year we returned to Wash- 
ington, when the Pan-Presbyterian Council was 
in session, and we entertained them at a reception 
hi our house till late in the evening. The Inter- 
national Union of Women's Foreign Missionary 
Societies of the Presbyterian and Reformed 
Churches were also meeting in Washington at 
this time, and they came. At one of the meetings 
of the Council Dr. Talmage invited them all to 
his house from the platform in his characteristic 
way. 

" Come all," he said, " and bring your wives 
with you. God gave Eve to Adam so that when he 
lost Paradise he might be able to stand it. She was 
taken out of man's side that she might be near 
the door of his heart, and have easy access to his 
pockets. Therefore, come, bringing the ladies 
with you. My wife and I shall not be entertaining 
angels unawares, but knowing it all the while. 
To have so much piety and brain under one roof 
at once, even for an hour or two, will be a bene- 
diction to us all the rest of our lives. I believe 
in the communion of saints as much as I believe 
in the life everlasting." 

In November, 1899, Dr. Talmage installed the 
Rev. Donald McLeod as succeeding pastor of the 
First Presbyterian Church in Washington, and 
delivered the installation address, the subject of 
which was, "Invitation to Outsiders." There had 
been some effort to inspire the people of Washing- 
ton to build an independent Tabernacle for the 



342 THE SECOND MILESTONE 



Doctor after his resignation, but he himself was 
not in sympathy with the movement because of 
the additional labour and strain it would have put 
upon him. 

As the winter grew into long, gray days, we 
were already planning a trip to Europe for the 
following year of 1900, and we were anticipating 
this event with eager expectancy as the time grew 
near. 



THE THIRD MILESTONE 



1900—1901 

So much has been written about Dr. Talmage 
the world over, that I am tempted to tell those 
things about him that have not been written, but 
it is difficult to do. He stood always before the 
people a sort of radiant mystery to them. He 
was never really understood by those whom he 
most influenced. A writer in an English news- 
paper has given the best description of his ap- 
pearance in 1900 I ever saw. It is so much better 
than any I could make that I quote it, regretting 
that I do not know the author's name : — 

" A big man, erect and masterful in spite of 
advancing years, with an expressive and mobile 
mouth that seems ever smiling, and with great 
and speaking eyes which proclaim the fervent soul 
beneath." 

This portrait is very true, with a suggestion of 
his nature that makes it a faithful transcript of 
his presence. It is a picture of him at 66 years of 
age. His strength overwhelmed people, and yet 
he was very simple, easily affected by the mis- 
fortunes of others, direct in all his impressions; 
but no one could take him by surprise, because 
his faith in the eternal redemption of all trials 

343 



344 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



was beyond the ways of the world. His optimism 
was simple Christianity. He always said he 
believed there was as great a number out of the 
Church as there was in it that followed the 
teaching of Christianity. He was among the 
believers, with his utmost energy alert to save 
and comfort the unbelievers. He believed in 
everything and everyone. The ingenuousness 
of his nature was childlike in its unchallenged 
faith and its tender instincts. His unworldliness 
was almost legendary in its belief of human nature. 
I remember he was asked once whether he be- 
lieved in Santa Claus, and in his own beautiful 
imagery he said : 

" I believe in Santa Claus. Haven't I listened 
when I was a boy and almost heard those bells 
on the reindeer ; haven't I seen the marks in 
the snow where the sleigh stopped at the door 
and old Santa jumped out ? I believed in him 
then and I believe in him now — believe that 
children should be allowed to believe in the 
beautiful mythical tale. It never hurt anyone, 
and I think one of the saddest memories of my 
childhood is of a day when an older brother told 
me there was no Santa Claus. I didn't believe 
him at first, and afterwards when I saw those de- 
lightful mysterious bundles being sneaked into the 
house, way down deep in my heart I believed 
that Santa Claus as well as my father and mother 
had something to do with it." 

In the last years of his life music became the 
greatest pleasure to Dr. Talmage. An accumula- 
tion of work made it necessary for me to engage 
a secretary. We were fortunate in securing a 
young lady who was an exquisite pianist. In the 
evening she would play Liszt's rhapsodies for the 
Doctor, who enjoyed the Hungarian composer 
most of all. He said to me once that he felt as if 



THE LAST TRIP TO EUROPE 345 



music in his study, when he was at work, would 
be a great inspiration. So my Christmas present 
to him that year was a musical box, which he kept 
in his study. 

The three months preceding our trip to Europe 
were spent in the usual busy turmoil of social and 
public life. In truth we were very full of our plans 
for the European tour, which was to be devoted to 
preaching by Dr. Talmage, and to show me the 
places he had seen and people he had met on 
previous visits. There was something significant 
in the welcome and the ovations which my 
husband received over there. Neither the 
Doctor nor myself ever dreamed that it would be 
his farewell visit. And yet it seems to me now 
that he was received everywhere in Europe as if 
they expected it to be his last. 

I must confess that we looked forward to our 
jaunt across the water so eagerly that the events 
of the preceding months did not seem very im- 
portant. With Dr. Talmage I went on his usual 
lecture trip West, stopping in Chicago, where 
the Doctor preached in his son's church. Every- 
where we were invited to be the guests of some 
prominent resident of the town we were in. It had 
been so with Dr. Talmage for years. He always 
refused, however, because he felt that his time 
was too imperative a taskmaster. For thirty 
years he had never visited anyone over night, 
until he went to my brother's house in Pittsburg. 
But we were constantly meeting old friends of 
his, friends of many years, in every stopping 
place of our journeys. I remember particularly 
one of these characteristic meetings which took 
place in New York, where the Doctor, had gone 
to preach one Sunday. We had just entered the 
Waldorf Hotel, where we were stopping, when a 
little man stepped up to the Doctor and began 



846 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



picking money off his coat. He seemed to find it 
all over him. Dr. Talmage laughed, and intro- 
duced me to Marshall P. Wilder. 

" Dr. Talmage started me in life," said Mr. 
Wilder, and proceeded to tell me how the Doctor 
had filled him with optimism and success. He was 
always doing this, gripping young men by the 
shoulders and shaking them into healthful life. 
And then men of political or national prominence 
were always seeking him out, to gain a little 
dynamic energy and balance from the Doctor's 
storehouse of experience and philosophy. He 
was a giant of helpfulness and inspiration, to 
everyone who came into contact with him. 

In January we dined with Governor Stone 
at the executive mansion in Harrisburg, where 
Dr. Talmage went to preach, and on our return 
from Europe Governor Stone insisted upon giving 
us a great reception and welcome. Of course, 
those years were stirring and enjoyable, and never 
to be forgotten. The reflected glory is a personal 
pleasure after all. 

In April, 1900, we sailed on the " Kaiser Wil- 
helm der Grosse " bound for London. The two 
points of interest the Doctor insisted upon making 
in Europe were the North Cape, to see the Mid- 
night Sun, and the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau. 
Hundreds of invitations had been sent to him to 
preach abroad, many of which he accepted, but 
he could not be persuaded to lecture. 

There was never a jollier, more electric com- 
panion de voyage than Dr. Talmage during the 
whole of his trip. He was the life of the party, 
which included his daughter, Miss Maud Talmage, 
and my daughter, Miss Rebekah Collier. 

On a very stormy Sunday, on board ship going 
over, Dr. Talmage preached, holding on to a pillar 
in the cabin. There were some who wondered 



IN ENGLAND 



347 



how he escaped the tortures of mal-de-mer, from 
which he had always suffered. It was a family 
secret. Once, when crossing with Mrs. Vanderbilt, 
she had given Dr. Talmage an opium plaster, 
which was absolute proof against the disagreeable 
consequences of ocean travel. With the aid of 
this plaster the Doctor's poise was perfect. Dis- 
embarking at Southampton we did not reach 
London until 3 a.m., going to the hotel somewhat 
the worse for wear. Temporarily we stopped at 
the Langham, moving later to the Metropole. 
Before lunch the same day the Doctor drove to 
Westminster Abbey to see the grave of Gladstone. 
It was his first thought, his first duty. It had 
been his custom for many years to visit the graves 
of his friends whenever he could be near them. 
It was a characteristic impulse of Dr. Talmage's to 
follow to the edge of eternity those whom he had 
known and liked. When he was asked in England 
what he had come to do there, he said : 

" I am visiting Europe with the hope of re- 
viving old friendships and stimulating those who 
have helped me in the old gospel of kindness." 

His range of vision was always from the Gospel 
point of view, not necessarily denominational. I 
remember he was asked, while in England, if 
there was an organisation in America akin to the 
Evangelical Council of Free Churches, and he 
said, while there was no such body, " there was 
a common platform in the United States upon 
almost every subject." 

The principal topic in England then was the 
Boer War, which aroused so much hostility in our 
country. The Doctor's sympathies were with 
the Boers, but he tactfully evaded any public 
expression of them in England, although he was 
interviewed widely on the subject. He never 
believed in rumours that were current, that the 



348 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



United States would interfere in the Transvaal, and 
prophesied that the American Government would 
not do so — "remembering their common origin." 

" The great need in America," he said, "is of 
accurate information about the Transvaal affairs. 
A great many Democratic politicians are trying 
to make Presidential capital out of the Boer 
disturbances, but it is doubtful how far these 
politicians will be permitted to dictate the policy 
of even their own party." 

I remember the candidature for President of 
Admiral Dewey was discussed with Dr. Talmage, 
who had no very emphatic views about the matter, 
except to declare Admiral Dewey's tremendous 
popularity, and to acknowledge his support by 
the good Democrats of the country. The Doctor 
was convinced however that Mr. McKinley would 
be the next President at this time. 

The first service in England which Dr. Talmage 
conducted was in Cavendish Chapel at Man- 
chester. The next was at Albert Hall in Notting- 
ham, under the auspices of the Y.M.C.A. He was 
described in the Nottingham newspapers as the 
44 most alive man in the United States." A 
great crowd filled the hall at Nottingham, 
and as usual he was compelled to hold an 
open-air meeting afterwards. The first lecture 
he ever delivered in England was given in this 
place twenty-one years before. 

Nothing interfered with the routine of the 
Doctor's habits of industry during all this 
European trip. He had taken over with him the 
proofs of about 20 volumes of his selected sermons 
for correction, and all his spare moments were 
spent in perfecting and revising these books for 
the printer. His sermons were the only monument 
he wished to leave to posterity. It has caused me 
the deepest regret that these books have not been 



NEWSTEAD ABBEY 



349 



perpetuated as he so earnestly wished. In 
addition to this work he wrote his weekly sermon 
for the syndicate, employing stenographers where- 
ever he might be in Europe two days every week 
for that purpose. And yet he never lost interest 
in the opportunities of travel, eagerly planning 
trips to the old historic places near by. 

Near Nottingham is the famous Byron country 
which Dr. Talmage had never found time to visit 
when he was in Europe before. We were told, 
at the hotel in Nottingham, that no visitors were 
allowed inside Newstead Abbey, so that when we 
ordered a carriage to drive there the hotel people 
shrugged their shoulders at what they regarded as 
our American irreverence. The rain was coming 
down in torrents when we started, the Doctor 
more than ever determined to overthrow British 
custom in his quiet, positive way. Through slush 
and mud, under dripping trees, across country 
landscapes veiled in the tender mist of clouds, we 
finally arrived at the Abbey. The huge outer 
gates were open, but the driver, with proper 
British respect for the law, stopped his horses. 
The Doctor leaned his head out of the carriage 
window and told him to drive into the grounds. 
Obediently he did so, and at last we reached the 
great heavy doors of the entrance. Dr. Talmage 
jumped out and boldly rang the bell. A sentry 
appeared to inform us that no one was allowed 
inside the Abbey. 

44 But we have come all the way from America 
to see this place," the Doctor urged. The sentry, 
with wooden militarism, was adamant. 

4 4 Is there no one inside in authority ? " the 
Doctor finally asked. Then the housekeeper was 
called. She told us that the Abbey belonged to an 
Army officer and his wife, that her master was away 
at the war in South Africa where his wife had gone 



350 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



with him, and that her orders were impera- 
tive. 

" Look here, just let us see the lower floor," 
said Dr. Talmage ; "we have come all the way 
from New York to see this place," and he slipped 
two sovereigns into her hand. Still she was 
unmoved. My daughter, who was then about 
14, was visibly disappointed. England was to 
her hallowed ground, and she was keenly anxious 
to walk in the footsteps of all its romance, which 
she had eagerly absorbed in history. Turning to 
the Doctor, she said, almost tearfully : 

"Why, Doctor Talmage, how can they refuse 
you?" 

The housekeeper caught the name. 

" Who did you say this was ? " she asked. 

" Doctor Talmage," said my daughter. 

" Dr. Talmage, I was just reading the sermon 
you preached on Sunday in the Nottingham news- 
paper, I am sure if my mistress were at home she 
would be glad to receive you. Come in, come in ! " 

So we saw Newstead Abbey. The housekeeper 
insisted that we should stay to tea, and made us 
enter our names in the visitors' book, and asked 
the Doctor to write his name on a card, saying, " I 
will send this to my mistress in South Africa." 

In the effort to remember many of the details 
of our stay in England and Scotland, I find it 
necessary to take refuge for information in my 
daughter's diary. It amused Dr. Talmage very 
much as he read it page by page. I find this 
entry made in Manchester, where she was not 
well enough to attend church: — 

" Sunday, a.m. — Doctor Talmage preached and 
I was disappointed that I could not go. The 
people went wild about the Doctor, and he had 
to make an address after church out-of-doors for 
those who could not get inside. Several policemen 



HADDON HALL 



351 



stood around the church door to keep away the 
crowd. I saw the High Sheriff driving home 
from church. He was inside a coach that looked 
as though it had been drawn out of a fairy tale 
— a huge coach painted red and gold, with crowns 
or something like them at each of the four corners. 
Two footmen dressed in George III. liveries were 
hanging behind by ribbons, and two on the box, 
all wearing powdered wigs. To be sure, I didn't 
see much of the Sheriff, but then the coach was 
the real show after all." 

Many of the details of the side trips which we 
made through England and Scotland have escaped 
my memory. In looking over my daughter's 
diary I find them amplified in the manner of 
girlhood, now lightly touched with fancy, now 
solemn with historical responsibility, now charmed 
with the glamour of romance. Dr. Talmage 
thought so well of them that they will serve to 
show the trail of his footsteps through the gate- 
ways of ancestral England. 

We went to Haddon Hall with Dr. Wrench, 
physician to the Duke of Devonshire. We drove 
from Bake well. In this part of my daughter's 
diary I read: — 

" It was a most beautiful drive. Derbyshire is 
called the Switzerland of England. The hills were 
quite high and beautifully wooded, and our drive 
lay along the river's edge — a brook we would call 
it in the States, but it is a river here — and winds in 
and out and through the fields and around the 
foot of the highest hill of all, called the Peak of 
Derbyshire. We passed picturesque little farm- 
houses, built of square blocks of rough, grey stone 
covered with ivy. We drove between hawthorn 
hedges, through beautiful green fields and orchards. 
From the midst of a little forest of grand old trees 
we caught sight of the highest tower of the castle, 



352 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



then we crossed over a little stone bridge and 
passed through the gates. Another short drive 
across the meadow and we stopped at the foot of 
a little hill, looking up at Haddon Hall. 

" We walked up to the castle and stood before 
the great iron-studded oak door, which has been 
there since the days of Queen Elizabeth. It had 
not been opened for years, but a smaller one had 
been cut in it through which visitors passed. For 
over 200 years no one had lived in the castle. It 
was built by the Normans and given by William 
the Conqueror to one of his Norman Barons. 
Finally by marriage it became the property of 
Sir George Vernon, who had two daughters, 
famous for their beauty. Margaret Vernon 
married a Stanley, and on the night of the wedding 
Dorothy Vernon eloped with Mr. John Manners. 
The story is very romantic. The ballroom from 
which Dorothy stole away when the wedding 
party was at its height is still just as it was then, 
excepting for the furniture. From the windows 
you can see the little stone bridge where Manners 
waited for her with the horses. Haddon Hall 
became the property of Dorothy Manners and 
has remained in the hands of the Rutland family, 
being now owned by the Duke of Rutland. 

" That is the romance of Haddon Hall, but 
one could make up a hundred to oneself when one 
walks through the different rooms. What a queer 
feeling it gives me to go through the old doorways, 
to stop and look through the queer little windows, 
and on the courtyard, wondering who used, long 
ago, to look out of the same windows. I wonder 
what they saw going on in the courtyard ? 

" We climbed to the top of the highest tower. 
The stairway wound upward with stone steps 
about three feet high cut out of the wall. At 
intervals we found little square rooms, very 



CHATSWORTH 



353 



possibly where the men at arms slept. What a 
view at the top ! The towers and roofs and court- 
yards of the castle lay before us. All around us 
the lovely English country, and as far as the eye 
could see, hills, woodland, and the winding river. 
It was glorious. Maud and I danced a two-step 
in the ballroom. 

66 If stones could only talk ! Well, if they could I 
should want a long confab with each one in the old 
courtyard of Haddon Hall. Who can tell, William 
the Conqueror himself may have stepped on some 
of them." 

We drove from Haddon Hall to the Peacock Inn 
for luncheon, going over to Chatsworth for the 
afternoon. Again I turn a few leaves of the diary : 

" Chatsworth is one of the homes of the Duke 
of Devonshire. The park is fourteen miles across 
and I don't know how big it is, but Dr. Wrench 
told me the number of acres, and I think it was 
three or four thousand. We drove five miles 
through the park before reaching the gates of 
Chatsworth — shall I call it house or castle ? I 
have pictures of it, and it is a good thing for I 
could not describe it. Dr. Wrench, being the 
Duke's physician, was able to take us through the 
private rooms. On entering the Hall, a broad 
marble staircase leads to the corridors above, 
from which others branch out through different 
parts of the house. We walked miles, it seems, 
until we got to the Duke's private library. When 
you are once in the room the doors are shut. You 
cannot tell how you got in or how you will get out. 
On every wall the bookcases are built in and there 
is not an opening of any kind ; not a break in the 
rows and rows of books. The explanation is 
simply this : the doors themselves are made to 
look like book shelves, painted on. 

" Chatsworth is so large that were I living there 

l A 



354 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



I should want a Cook's guide every time I moved. 
One picture gallery is full of sketches by Hogarth, 
and pictures of almost every old master you ever 
heard of, and some you never heard of. Opening out 
of this gallery are great glass doors leading into 
halls into which the different bedrooms open. 
In one bedroom the walls and ceiling were 
covered with oil paintings, not hanging but 
literally painted on them. The bed was a huge 
four-poster. The curtains were of heavy brocaded 
satin. The windows looked out on terraces, 
garden and fountains. I like this room best of all. 
We were taken through the state apartments 
where I saw on a throne a huge chair of state on 
a platform, with canopy over it, with the Duke's 
crest in gold woven upon it. In one of the drawing- 
rooms we saw a life-size portrait of Henry VIII., 
a real true one painted from life, and one of 
Philip II. of Spain, and of Charles V., and of 
Anne of Austria. The Duke had sent special word 
from London to have the fountains in the park 
play for us, and we watched them from the window. 
They are beautiful. Such nice shower baths for 
the marble statues on the terrace ! 

" The Prince of Wales has often visited Chats- 
worth, and a funny story was told about one of 
his visits. It was after dinner and the drawing- 
room was full of people. Whenever Royalty is 
present it is expected that the men will wear all 
their decorations. Well, the Earl of Something- 
or-other had forgotten one of his, and someone 
reported this fact to the Prince who sent for the 
culprit to be brought before him. At the time the 
Prince was seated on one of the huge lounges, 
on which only a giant could sit and keep his feet 
on the floor. The Prince was sitting far back and 
his feet stuck straight out in the air. When the 
guilty man was brought up to be reprimanded 



IN GLASGOW 



355 



the attitude of the Prince was far from dignified. 
His Royal Highness was not really angry, but 
he told the poor Earl of Something-or-other 
that he must write out the oath of the Order that 
he had forgotten to wear. It was a long oath and 
the Earl's memory was not so long." 

We went from Nottingham to Glasgow. The 
date, I find, is May 1, 1900. It was always Dr. 
Talmage's custom to visit the cemetery first, so we 
drove out to the grave of John Knox. In Glasgow 
the Doctor preached at the Cowcaddens Free 
Church to the usual crowded congregation, and 
he was compelled to address an overflow meeting 
from the steps of the church after the regular 
service. The best part of Dr. Talmage's holiday 
moods, which were as scarce as he could make 
them because of the amount of work he was 
always doing, were filled with the delight of 
watching the eager interest in sightseeing of the 
two girls, Miss Maud Talmage and my daughter. 
In Glasgow we encountered the usual wet weather 
of the proverbial Scottish quality, and it was 
Saturday of the week before we ventured out to 
see the Lakes. My daughter naively confesses 
the situation to her journal as follows : — 

"This a.m. — Got up at the usual starting hour, 
7 o'clock, and as it looked only dark we decided 
to go. At breakfast it started to rain again and 
Mamma and the Doctor began to back out, but 
Maud and I talked to some advantage. We 
argued that if we were going to sit around waiting 
for a fair day in this country we might just as 
well give up seeing anything more interesting 
than hotel parlours and dining-rooms. 

" We started, and just as a 4 send off ' the old 
sky opened and let down a deluge of water. It 
rained all the time we were on Loch Lomond, 
but that didn't prevent us from being up on deck 



356 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



on the boat. From under umbrellas we saw the 
most beautiful scenery in Scotland. Part of this 
trip was made by coach, always in the pouring 
rain. We drove on and on through the hills, 
seeing nothing but sheep, sheep, sheep. Doctor 
Talmage asked the driver what kind of vegetables 
they raised in the mountains and the driver 
replied — 4 mutton.' We had luncheon at a very 
pretty little hotel on Loch Katrine, and here 
boarded a little steamer launch, 'Rob Roy,' for 
a beautiful sail. I never, no matter where I 
travel, expect to look upon a lake more beautiful. 
The mountains give wildness and romance to the 
calm and quiet of the lake, and the island. Maud 
read aloud to us parts of 6 The Lady of the Lake ' 
as we sat out on deck." 

In Edinburgh Dr. Talmage preached his well- 
known sermon upon unrequited services, at the 
request of Lord Kintore, the son of the Earl of 
Kintore, who had suggested the theme to him 
some years before. In fact the Doctor wrote 
this sermon by special suggestion of the Earl of 
Kintore. 

Incidents great and small were such a large 
part of the eventful trip to Europe that it is 
difficult to make those omissions which the dis- 
interested reader might wish. The Doctor, like 
ourselves, saw with the same rose-coloured glasses 
that we did. We were very pleasantly entertained 
in Edinburgh by Lord Kintore and others, but 
the most interesting dinner party I think was 
when we were the guests of Sir Herbert Simpson, 
brother of the celebrated Sir James Y. Simpson, 
the man who discovered the uses of chloroform 
as an anaesthetic. We dined in the very room 
where the discovery was first tested. When Dr. 
Simpson had decided upon a final experiment of 
the effects of chloroform as an anaesthetic, he 



SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON 857 



invited three or four of his colleagues and friends 
to share the test with him. They met in the very 
room where we dined with Sir Herbert Simpson 
and his family. The story goes that when every- 
thing had been prepared for the evening's work, 
Dr. Simpson informed " Sandy," an old servant, 
that he must not be disturbed under any cir- 
cumstances, telling him not to venture inside the 
door himself until 5 a.m. Then, if no one had left 
the room, he was to enter. " Sandy " obeyed 
these instructions to the letter, and came into 
the room at 5 in the morning. He was very 
much shocked to find his master and the others 
under the table in a stupor. 46 I never thought 
my master would come to this," said Sandy. He 
was still in the employ of the family, being a 
very old man. 

Dr. Talmage's engagements took him from 
Edinburgh to Liverpool, where he preached. It 
was while there that we made a visit to Hawarden 
to see Mrs. Gladstone. The Doctor had been to 
Hawarden before as the guest of Mr. Gladstone, 
and was disappointed to find that Mrs. Gladstone 
was too ill to be seen by anyone. We were enter- 
tained, however, by Mrs. Herbert Gladstone. I 
remember how much the Doctor was moved when 
he saw in the hall at Hawarden a bundle of 
walking sticks and three or four hats hanging on 
the hat-rack, as Mr. Gladstone had left them 
when he died. 

From Liverpool we went to Sheffield, where Dr. 
Talmage preached to an immense congregation. It 
was in May, the time when all England is flower- 
laden, when the air is as sweet as perfume and the 
whole countryside is as fascinating as a garden. 
It was the coaching season, too, and the Doctor 
entered into the spirit of these beautiful days 
very happily. We took a ten days' trip from 



358 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



Leamington after leaving Sheffield, coaching 
through the exquisite scenery around about 
Warwick, Kenilworth, and the Shakespeare 
country in Stratford-on-Avon. Most of these 
reminiscences are full of incidents too intimate 
for public interest. Like a dream that lifts one 
from prosaic life into the places of precious 
remembrance I recall these long, happy days in 
the glorious sunset of his life. 

We returned to London in time for the Doctor's 
first preaching engagement there on May 28, 
1900. The London newspapers described him as 
" The American Spurgeon." 

" And now before the services opened at St. 
James' Hall a congregation of 3,000 people waited 
to hear Dr. Tannage," says a London newspaper. 
Then it goes on to say further : — 

" Dr. Talmage, who has preached from pulpits 
all over the world, may be described as an 6 Ameri- 
can Spurgeon.' None of our great English 
speakers is less of an orator. Dr. Talmage is a 
great speaker, but his power as an orator is not 
by any means that of a Gladstone or a Bright. 
It lies more in the matter than in the manner, 
in his wonderful imagery, the vividness with 
which he conjures up a picture before the con- 
gregation. He is a great artist in words. Dr. 
Talmage affects nothing ; he is naturalness it- 
self in the pulpit, and the manner of his speech 
suggests that he is angry with his subject. The 
sermon on this occasion lent itself well to a master 
of metaphor such as Dr. Talmage, it being a re- 
view of the last great battle of the world, when 
the forces of right and wrong should meet for the 
final mastery." 

Dr. Talmage rarely preached this sermon be- 
cause it was a great tax on his memory. It included 
a suggestion of all the great battles of the earth, a 



AMERICA'S APOSTLE 359 



vivid description of the armies of the world 
marching forward in the eternal human struggle 
of right against wrong until they were masked 
for the last great battle of all, when " Satan would 
take the field in person, in whose make-up nothing 
bad was left out, nothing good was put in." 

It is very remarkable to see the universal ac- 
knowledgments of the Doctor's genius in England, 
one of the London newspapers going so far as to 
describe him in its headlines as " America's 
Apostle." Nothing I could write about him 
could be more in eulogy, more in sympathy in 
comprehension of his brilliant sacred message 
to the world. England proclaimed him as he 
was, with deep sincerity and reverence. 

His favourite sermon, and it was mine also, 
was upon the theme of unrequited services, the 
text being from 1 Samuel xxx. 24, "But as his 
part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his 
part be that tarrieth by the stuff." It was in 
this sermon that Dr. Talmage made reference to 
Florence Nightingale, in the following words : — 

" Women, your reward in the eternal world 
will be as great as that of Florence Nightingale, 
the Lady of the Lamp." While in London he 
preached this sermon, and the following day to 
our surprise the Doctor received the following 
note at his hotel : — 

" June 3, 1900. 

" 10, South Street, 
" Dear Sir— " Park Lane. 

" I could gladly see you to-morrow (Monday) 
at 5. — Yours faithfully, 

" Florence Nightingale. 
" T. DeWitt Talmage, of America." 

I have carefully kept the letter in my autograph 
album. 



360 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



Dr. Talmage and I called at the appointed time. 
It was a beautiful summer day and we found the 
celebrated woman lying on a couch in a room at 
the top of the house, the windows of which looked 
out on Hyde Park. She was dressed all in white. 
Her face was exquisitely spiritual, calm, sweet 
with the youth of a soul that knew no age. She 
had never known that she had been called ' The 
Lady of the Lamp ' by the soldiers of the Crimea 
till she read of it in the Doctor's sermon. She 
was curious to be told all about it. In conversa- 
tion with the Doctor she made many inquiries 
about America and the Spanish war, making 
notes on a pad of what he said. The Doctor told 
her that she looked like a woman who had never 
known the ordinary conflicts of life, as though 
she had always been supremely happy and calm 
in her soul. I remember she replied that she had 
never known a day's real happiness till she began 
her work as a nurse on the battlefield. 

44 I was not always happy," she said ; "I had 
my idle hours when I was a girl." I may not 
remember her exact words, but this is the sense 
of them. She was past 82 years of age at the time. 

Enjoying the intervals of sight-seeing, such as 
the Tower, the Museum, Westminster Abbey, and 
the usual wonders of historical London, we re- 
mained in town several weeks. I remember a 
visit which Mr. Choate, the American Ambassador, 
made us with a view to extending any courtesy 
he could for the Doctor while we were in England. 
I told him that I was more anxious to see the 
British Parliament in session than anything else. 

"I should think, as Dr. Talmage has with him 
a letter from the President of the United States, 
this request could be arranged," I said. 

Mr. Choate gracefully replied that Dr. Talmage 
required no introduction anywhere, not even 



GUESTS AT THE MANSION HOUSE 361 



from the President, and arranged to have the 
Charge d'Affaires, Mr. White, who was later 
Ambassador to France, take us over to the Houses 
of Parliament, where we were permitted a glimpse 
of the Members at work from the cage enclosure 
reserved for lady visitors. 

The Doctor's friends in England did their best 
to make us feel at home in London. We were 
dined and lunched, and driven about whenever Dr. 
Talmage could spare time from his work. Sir 
Alfred Newton, the Lord Mayor, and Lady 
Newton gave us a luncheon at the Mansion House 
on June 5, 1900. I remember the date because it 
was an epoch in the history of England. During 
the luncheon the news reached the Lord Mayor 
of the capture of Pretoria. He ordered a huge 
banner to be hung from the Mansion House on 
which were the words — 

" The British Flag Flies at Pretoria." 

This was the first intimation of the event given 
to Londoners in that part of the city. Side by 
side with it another banner proclaimed the 
National prayer, " God Save the Queen," in big 
red letters on the white background. A scene of 
wild enthusiasm and excitement followed. Every 
Englishman in that part of London, I believe, 
began to shout and cheer at the top of his lungs. 
An immense crowd gathered in the adjoining 
streets around the Mansion House. The morning 
war news had only indicated a prolonged struggle, 
so that the capture of Pretoria was a great and 
joyous surprise to the British heart. Suddenly 
all hats were off, and the crowds in the streets 
sang the National Anthem. There were loud calls 
for the Lord Mayor to make a speech. We 
watched it all from the windows in the parlour 
of the Mansion House, at the corner of Queen 



362 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



Victoria Street. Dr. Talmage was as wildly en- 
thusiastic as any Englishman, cheering and wav- 
ing his arm from the open windows in hearty 
accord with the crowd below. There was no sleep 
for anyone in London that night. Around our 
hotel, the blowing of horns and cheering lasted 
till the small hours of the morning. It seemed 
very much like the excitement in America after 
the capture of the Spanish Fleet. 

We left London finally with many regrets, 
having enjoyed the hospitality of what is to me 
the most attractive country in the world to visit. 
We went direct to Paris to attend the opening 
ceremonies of the Paris Exposition of 1900. It 
seems like a very old story to tell anything to-day 
of this event, and to Dr. Talmage it was chiefly a 
repetition of the many Fairs he had seen in his 
life, but he found time to write a description of 
it at the time, which recalls his impressions. He 
regarded it as " An Object Lesson of Peace and 
a Tableau of the Millennium." 

His defence of General Peck, the American 
Commissioner-General, who was criticised by the 
American exhibitors, was made at length. He 
considered these criticisms unjust, and said so. 
During our stay in Paris Dr. Talmage preached at 
the American churches. 

Fearing that it would be difficult to secure 
rooms in Paris during the Exposition, the Doctor 
had written from Washington during the winter 
and engaged them at the hotel which a few years 
before had been one of the best in Paris. Many 
changes had occurred since he had last been 
abroad, however, and we found that the hotel 
where we had engaged rooms was far from being 
suitable for us. The mistake caused some amuse- 
ment among our American friends, who were 
surprised to find Dr. Talmage living in the midst 



IN COPENHAGEN 863 



of a Parisian gaiety entirely too promiscuous for 
his calling. We soon moved away from this zone 
of oriental music and splendour to a quieter and 
more remote hotel in the Rue Castiglione. 

Dr. Talmage was restless, however, to reach the 
North Cape in the best season to see the Midnight 
Sun in its glory, and we only remained in Paris 
a few days, going from there to the Hague, 
Amsterdam, and thence to Copenhagen in Den- 
mark. In all the cities abroad we were always 
the guests of the American Embassy one evening 
during our stay, and this frequently led to 
private dinner parties with some of the prominent 
residents, which the Doctor greatly enjoyed, 
because it gave him an opportunity to know the 
foreign people in their homes. I remember one of 
these invitations particularly because as we drove 
into the grounds of our host's home he ordered the 
American flag to be hoisted as we entered. The 
garden was beautiful with a profusion of yellow 
blossoms, a national flower in Denmark known 
as " Golden Rain." We admired them so much 
that our host wanted to present me with sprigs 
of the trees to plant in our home at East 
Hampton. Dr. Talmage said he was sure that 
they would not grow out there so near the 
sea. Remembering Judge Collier's grounds in 
Pittsburg, where every sort of flower grows, 
I suggested that they would thrive there. Our 
host took my father-in-law's address, and to-day 
this " Golden Rain " of Denmark is growing 
beautifully in his garden in Pittsburg. 

We saw and explored Copenhagen thoroughly. 
The King of Denmark was absent from the capital, 
but we stood in front of his palace with the usual 
interest of visitors, little expecting to be enter- 
tained there, as afterwards we were. It all came 
as a surprise. 



364 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



We were on our way to the station to leave 
Copenhagen, when Mr. Swenson, the American 
Minister, overtook us and informed us that the 
Crown Prince and Princess desired to receive Dr. 
Talmage and his family at the summer palace. 
Though it may be at the risk of Use majeste to say 
it, some persuasion was necessary to induce the 
Doctor to remain over. Our trunks were already 
at the station and Dr. Talmage was anxious to get 
up to the North Cape. However, the American 
Minister finally prevailed upon the Doctor to 
consider the importance of a request from royalty, 
and we went back to the hotel into the same rooms 
we had just left. 

Our presentation took place the next day at the 
summer palace, which is five miles from Copen- 
hagen. It was the most informally delightful 
meeting. The formalities of royalty that are 
sometimes made to appear so overwhelming to 
the ordinary individual, were so gracefully inter- 
woven by the Crown Prince and the Princess with 
cordiality and courtesy, that we were as perfectly 
at ease, as if there had been crowns hovering over 
our own heads. The royal children were all 
present, too, and we talked and walked and 
laughed together like a family party. The Crown 
Princess said to me, " Come, let me show you my 
garden," and we strolled in the beautiful grounds. 
The Crown Prince said, " Come, let me show you 
my den," and there gave us the autographs 
of himself and the Princess. We left regretfully. 
As we drove away the royal party were gathered 
at the front windows of the palace waving their 
handkerchiefs to us in graceful adieus. I remem- 
ber my little daughter was very much surprised 
with the simplicity of the whole affair, saying to 
me as we drove away, " Why, it was just like 
visiting Grandpa's home." 



AT NANSEN'S HOME 365 



On our way to Trondhjem from Copenhagen we 
stayed over a few days at Christiania, where we 
were the guests of Nansen, the Arctic explorer. 
His home, which stood out near the water's 
edge, was like a bungalow made of pine logs. 
There were no carpets on the floors, which were 
covered with the skins of animals he had himself 
killed. Trophies of all sorts were in evidence. 
It was a very memorable afternoon with the simple, 
brave, scientific Nansen. 

At Trondhjem we took the steamer " Kong 
Harald " for the North Cape. A party of American 
friends had just returned from there with the 
most lugubrious story about the bad weather and 
their utter failure to see the sun. As it was 
pouring rain when we started, it would not have 
taken much persuasion to induce us to give it all 
up. But we had started with a purpose, and silently 
but firmly we went on with it. Dr. Talmage 
never turned back at any cross road in his whole 
life. In a few hours after leaving Trondhjem we 
were in the raw, cold Arctic temperature where 
a new order of existence begins. 

We lose all sense of ordinary time, for our watches 
indicate midnight, and there is no darkness. The 
over-hanging clouds draw slowly apart, and the 
most brilliant, dazzling midnight sun covers the 
waters and sets the sky on fire. It neither rises 
from the horizon or sinks into it. It stays per- 
fectly, immovably still. After a while it rises very 
slowly. The meals on board are as irregular as the 
time ; they are served according to the adaptability 
of one's appetite to the strangeness of the new 
element of constant daytime. We scarcely want 
to sleep, or know when to do so. Fortunately our 
furs are handy, for there is snow and ice on the 
wild, barren rocks on either side of us. 

On July 1, at 8 p.m., we sighted this northern- 



366 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



most land, the Cape, and were immediately 
induced to indulge in cod fishing from the decks of 
our steamer. It is the custom, and the cod seem to 
accept the situation with perverse indiscretion, 
for many of them are caught. Our lines and bait 
are provided by sailors. Dinner is again delayed 
to enable us to indulge in this sport, but we don't 
mind because we have lost all the habitual ten- 
dencies of our previous normal state. 

At 10 p.m., in a bright daylight, the small boats 
full of passengers begin to leave the steamer for 
the shore. In about fifteen minutes we are landed 
at the base of that towering Cape. There are some 
who doubt the wisdom of Dr. Talmage's attempt- 
ing to climb at his age. He has no doubts, however, 
and no one expresses them to him. He is among 
the first to take the staff, handed to him as to all 
of us, and starts up at his usual brisk, striding 
gait. It is a test of lungs and heart, of skill and 
nerve to climb the North Cape, and let no one 
attempt it who is unfitted for the task. Steep 
almost as the side of a house, rocky as an unused 
pathway, it is a feat to accomplish. We were the 
first party of the season to go up, and the paths 
had not been entirely cleared of snow, which was 
two and three feet deep in places, the path itself 
sometimes a narrow ledge over a precipice. A 
rope guard was the only barrier between us and 
a slippery catastrophe. Every ten or fifteen 
minutes we sat down to get our breath. It took 
us two hours to reach the top. It was a few 
minutes after midnight when the sun came out 
gloriously. 

Coming down was much more perilous, but we 
got back in safety to the "Kong Harald" at 2 a.m. 
On our way down to Trondhjem we celebrated the 
Fourth of July on board. The captain decorated 
the ship for the occasion and we all tried to sing 



PREACHING IN SWEDEN 367 



" The Star Spangled Banner," but we could not 
remember the words, much to our mutual sur- 
prise and finally we compromised by singing 
" America," and, worst of all, 44 Yankee Doodle." 
Dr. Talmage made a very happy address, and we 
came into port finally, pledged to learn the words 
of 44 The Star Spangled Banner " before the year 
was up. 

In our haste to reach the North Cape we had 
passed hurriedly through Sweden, so, on our 
return we went from Trondhjem to Stockholm, 
where we arrived on July 7, 1900. 

When in London Dr. Talmage had accepted an 
invitation to preach in the largest church in 
Sweden, with some misgiving, because, as he 
himself said when asked to do this, 44 Shall I have 
an audience ? " Of course the Doctor did not 
speak the Swedish language. Dr. Talmage had 
been told in England that his name was known 
through all Sweden, which was a fact fully sus- 
tained by a publisher in Stockholm who came to 
the hotel one afternoon and brought copies of 
ten of the Doctor's books translated into Swedish. 
This insured a cordial greeting for the Doctor, 
but how was he to make himself understood ? 

The Immanuel Church in Stockholm, one of the 
largest I ever saw, with two galleries and three 
aisles, was filled to its capacity. Dr. Talmage was 
to preach through an interpreter, himself a fore- 
most preacher in his own country. The Doctor 
had preached through interpreters three times in 
his life ; once when a theological student addres- 
sing a congregation of American Indians, once in 
a church in Hawaii, and once in Ceylon through 
an interpreter standing on each side of him, one 
to translate into Cingalese, and the other to trans- 
late into Hindustan. No one who was present at 
that morning Sabbath service on July 8, 1900, 



368 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



will forget the strange impressions that translated 
sermon preached by Dr. Talmage made upon 
everyone. Sentence by sentence the brilliant 
interpreter repeated the Doctor's words in the 
Swedish language, while the congregation in 
eager silence studied Dr. Talmage's face while 
listening to the translation of his ideas. 

" Whether I did them any good or not they 
did me good," said the Doctor after the service. 

While in Stockholm we dined with Mr. Wynd- 
ham, Secretary of the American Legation, and 
were shown through the private rooms of the 
royal palace, of which my daughter took snap- 
shots with surreptitious skill. The Queen was 
a great invalid and scarcely ever saw anyone, 
but while driving to her summer palace we caught 
a glimpse of her being lifted from her little horse, 
on which she had been riding, seated in a sort of 
armchair saddle. With a groom to lead the horse 
Her Majesty took the air every day in this way. 
She was a very frail little woman. 

From Stockholm we started by steamer for St. 
Petersburg, but the crowd was so great that we 
found our staterooms impossible, and we dis- 
embarked at Alba, the first capital in Finland. 
We were curious to see the new capital, Helsing- 
fors, and stopped over a day or two there. From 
Helsingfors we went by rail to the Russian capital. 

Dr. Talmage had been in Russia years before, 
on the occasion of his presentation of a shipload 
of flour from the American people to the famine 
sufferers. At that time he had been presented 
to Emperor Alexander III., as well as the 
Dowager Empress. It was his intention to pay 
his respects again to the new Emperor, whose 
father he had known, so that we looked forward 
to our stay in St. Petersburg as eventful. The 
Crown Prince of Denmark had urged the Doctor 



AN INVITATION FROM THE CZAR 369 



to see his brother-in-law, the Czar, while in St. 
Petersburg, and we learned later that he had 
written a letter to the Court concerning our 
coming to St. Petersburg. 

On July 23, 1900, we received the following note 
from Dr. Pierce, the American Charge d' Affaires 
in St. Petersburg : — 

" July 23, 1900. 
" Embassy of the United States, 
St. Petersburg. 

" Dear Dr. Talmage — 

" I take much pleasure in informing you that 
you and Mrs. Talmage and your daughters will 
be received by Their Majesties the Emperor and 
Empress on Wednesday next, at 2\ p.m. 

" Yours very sincerely, 

" Herbert H. D. Pierce. 

" P.S. — I will let you know the details later." 

Mr. Pierce called in full court dress and in- 
formed Dr. Talmage that it would be necessary for 
him to appear in like regalia. As the Doctor was 
not accustomed to wearing swords, or cocked 
hats, or brass buttons on his coat, he received 
these instructions with some distress of mind. 
Later, we received from the Grand Master of 
Ceremonies of the Russian Court a formal invita- 
tion to be presented at Peterhof, the summer 
palace. 

On Wednesday, July 25, 1900, I find this 
irreverent entry in my American girl's diary : — 

" I can't think of any words sufficiently high 
sounding with which to begin the report of this 
day, so shall simply write about breakfast first, 
and gradually lead up to the great event. In spite 
of the coming honour and the present excitement 
we all ate a hearty breakfast." 

2 B 



370 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



" As our train was to leave for Peterhof about 
noon we spent the morning dressing. 

" After all," writes my irreverent daughter in 
her diary, 44 dressing for royalty is not more im- 
portant than dressing for a dance or dinner. It 
can't last for much over an hour. When we had 
everything on we sat opposite each other as stiff 
as pokers — waiting." 

My daughter took a snapshot picture of us 
while waiting. Mrs. Pierce had kindly given us 
some instructions about curtseying and backing 
away from royalty, a ceremony which neither 
the Czar nor the Czarina imposed upon us, how- 
ever. The trip to Peterhof was made on one of 
the Imperial cars. The distance by rail from St. 
Petersburg was only half-an-hour. A gentleman 
from the American Embassy rode with us. We 
were met at the station by footmen in royal 
livery and conducted to a carriage with the 
Imperial coat-of-arms upon it. Sentinels in 
grey coats saluted us. 

We were driven first to the Palace of Peterhof, 
where more footmen in gold lace, and two other 
officials in gorgeous uniform, conducted us inside, 
through a corridor, past a row of bowing 
servants, into a dining-room where the table was 
set for luncheon, with gold and silver plates, cut 
glass and rare china. A more exquisite table 
setting I never saw. Three dressing-rooms 
opened off this big room, and these we promptly 
appropriated. 

The luncheon was perfect, though we would 
have enjoyed it better after the strain of our 
presentation had been over. The four different 
kinds of wine were not very liberally patronised 
by any of our party. After luncheon we were 
driven through the royal park which was literally 
filled with mounted Cossacks on guard every- 



GUESTS OF ROYALTY 371 



where, to the abode of the Emperor. Through 
another double line of liveried servants we were 
ushered into a small room where the Master of 
Ceremonies and a lady-in-waiting greeted us. 
We waited about five minutes when an officer 
came to the Doctor and took him to see the 
Emperor. A little later we were ushered into 
another room into the presence of the Empress 
of Russia. She came forward very graciously 
with outstretched hands to meet us. The Czarina 
is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, aristo- 
cratic, simple, extremely sensitive. She was 
dressed in a black silk gown with white polka dots. 
Slightly taller than the Czar, the Empress was 
most affable, girlish in her manner. As she talked 
the colour came and went on her pale, fair cheeks, 
and she gave me the impression of being a very 
sensitive, reserved, exquisitely rare nature. Her 
smile had a charming yet half melancholy 
radiance. We all sat down and talked. I re- 
member the little shiver with which the 
Empress spoke of a race in the Orient whom she 
disliked. 

" They would stab you in the back," she said, 
her voice fading almost to a whisper. She looked 
to be about twenty-eight years old. Once when 
we thought it was time to go, and had started to 
make our adieus, the Czarina kept on talking, 
urging us to stay. She talked of America chiefly, 
and told us how enthusiastic her cousin was who 
had just returned from there. When, finally, we 
did leave we were spared the dreaded ceremony 
of backing out of the room, for the Empress 
walked with us to the door, and shook hands in 
true democratic American fashion. 

Dr. Tannage's interview with the Czar was 
quite as cordial. The Emperor expressed his 
faith in the results of the Peace movement at 



372 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



the Hague, for he was himself at peace with all 
the world. During the interview the Doctor was 
asked many questions by the Emperor about the 
heroes of the Spanish war, especially concerning 
Admiral Dewey. His Majesty laughed heartily 
at the Doctor's story of a battle in which the only 
loss of life was a mule. 

" How many important things have happened 
since we met," the Czar said to the Doctor ; "I 
was twenty-four when you were here before, now 
I am thirty-two. My father is gone. My mother 
has passed through three great sorrows since you 
were here — the loss of my father, of my brother, 
and during this last year of her own mother, the 
Queen of Denmark. She wishes to see you in her 
own palace." 

The Czar is about five feet ten in height, is very 
fair, with blue eyes, and seemed full of kindness 
and good cheer. 

As we were leaving, word came from the 
Dowager Empress that she would see us, and 
we drove a mile or two further through the royal 
park to her palace. She greeted Dr. Talmage with 
both hands outstretched, like an old friend. 
Though much smaller in stature than the Empress 
of Russia, the Dowager Empress was quite as 
impressive and stately. She was dressed in 
mourning. Her room was like a corner in Para- 
dise set apart from the grim arrogance of Imperial 
Russia. It was filled with exquisite paintings, 
sweet with a profusion of flowers and plants. 
She seemed genuinely happy to see the Doctor, 
and her eyes filled with tears when he spoke of 
the late Emperor, her husband. At her neck 
she was wearing a miniature portrait of him set 
in diamonds. Very simply she took it off to 
show to us, saying, " This is the best picture ever 
taken of my husband. It is such a pleasure to 



WITH THE DOWAGER EMPRESS 373 



see you, Dr. Talmage, I heard of your being in 
Europe from my brother in Denmark." 

The Dowager Empress was full of remembrances 
of the Doctor's previous visit to Russia, eight 
years before. 

" How did you like the tea service which my 
husband sent you ? " she asked Dr. Talmage ; " I 
selected it myself. It is exactly like a set we use 
ourselves." 

The informal charm of the Empress's manner 
was most friendly and kind. 

" Do you remember the handful of flowers I 
picked for you, and asked you to send them to 
your family ? " she said. 

" You stood here, my husband there, and I 
with my smaller children stood here. How well 
I remember that day ; but, oh, what changes ! " 

The Dowager Empress invited us to come to 
her palace next day and meet the Queen of Greece, 
her niece by marriage, and her sister-in-law who 
was visiting Russia just then, but we were obliged 
to decline because of previous plans. Very 
graciously she wrote her autograph for us and 
promised to send me her photograph, which later 
on I received. We were driven back to the station 
in the Imperial carriage, where a representative 
of the American Embassy met us and rode back 
to St. Petersburg with us. 

So ended a day of absorbing interest such as I 
shall never experience again. There is a touch 
of humour always to the most important events 
in life. I shall never forget Dr. Talmage's real 
distress when he found that the sword which he 
had borrowed from Mr. Pierce, the Charge 
d'Affaires of the American Embassy, had become 
slightly bent in the course of its royal adventure. 
I can see his look of anxiety as he tried to 
straighten it out, and was afraid he couldn't. He 



374 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



always abhorred borrowed things and hardly ever 
took them. Fortunately, the sword was not 
seriously damaged. 

Our objective point after leaving Russia was 
Ober-Ammergau, where Dr. Talmage wanted to 
witness the Passion Play. We travelled in that 
direction by easy stages, going from St. Peters- 
burg first to Moscow, where we paid a visit to 
Tolstoi's house. From Moscow we went to 
Warsaw, and thence to Berlin. The Doctor 
seemed to have abandoned himself completely 
to the lure of sightseeing by this time. Churches, 
picture galleries, museums were our daily diet. 
While in Berlin we returned from a drive one 
day to the hotel and found ourselves the objects 
of unusual solicitude and attention from the hotel 
proprietor and his servants. With many obse- 
quious bows we were informed that the Russian 
Ambassador had called upon us in our absence, 
and had informed the hotel people that he had a 
special package from the Czar to deliver to me. 
He left word that he would be at the hotel at 
2 p.m. the following day to carry out his Imperial 
Master's instructions. At the time appointed the 
next day the Russian Ambassador called and 
formally presented to me, in the name of the 
Emperor, a package that had been sent by special 
messenger. I immediately opened it and found 
a handsome Russian leather case. I opened that, 
and inside found the autographs of the Emperor 
and Empress of Russia, written on separate sheets 
of their royal note paper. 

We had a very good time in Berlin. The 
presence of Sousa and his band there gave it an 
American flavour that was very delightful. The 
Doctor's interest was really centred in visiting 
the little town of Wiirttemberg, famous for its 
Luther history. Dr. Dickey, Pastor of the 



OBER-AMMERGAU 375 



American Church in Berlin, became our guide 
on the day we visited the haunts of Luther. One 
day we went through the Kaiser's Palace at 
Potsdam, where my daughter managed to use 
her kodak with good effect. 

From Berlin we went to Vienna, and thence to 
Munich, arriving at the little village of Ober- 
Ammergau on August 25, 1900. 

Dr. Tannage's impressions of the Passion Play, 
which he wrote at Ober-Ammergau on this 
occasion, were never published in this country, 
and I herewith include them in these last mile- 
stones of his life. 

The Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau 
By Rev. T. DeWiii Talmage, D.D. 

About fifteen years ago the good people of 
America were shocked at the proposition to put 
on the theatrical stage of New York the Passion 
Play, or a dramatic representation of the suffer- 
ings of Christ. It was to be an imitation of that 
which had been every ten years, since 1634, 
enacted in Ober-Ammergau, Germany. Every 
religious newspaper and most of the secular 
journals, and all the pulpits, denounced the 
proposition. It would be an outrage, a sacrilege, 
a blasphemy. I thought so then ; I think so 
now. The attempt of ordinary play actors amid 
worldly surroundings, and before gay assemblages, 
to portray the sufferings of Christ and His 
assassination would have been a horrible indecency 
that would have defied the heavens and invoked 
a plague worse than that for the turning back of 
which the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau was 
established. We might have suggested for such 
a scene a Judas, or a Caiaphas, or a Pilate, or a 



376 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



Herod. But who would have been the Christ ? 

The Continental protest which did not allow 
the curtain of that exhibition to be hoisted was 
right, and if a similar attempt should ever be 
made in America I hope it may be as vehemently 
defeated. But as certain individuals may have 
an especial mission which other individuals are 
not caused to exercise, so neighbourhoods and 
provinces and countries may have a call peculiar 
to themselves. 

Whether the German village of Ober-Ammergau 
which I have just been visiting, may have such 
an especial ordination, I leave others to judge 
after they have taken into consideration all the 
circumstances. The Passion Play, as it was 
proposed for the theatrical stage in New York, 
would have been as different from the Passion 
Play as we saw it at Ober-Ammergau a few days 
ago as midnight is different from mid-noon. 

Ober-Ammergau is a picture-frame of hills. 

The mountains look down upon the village, 
and the village looks up to the mountains. The 
river Ammer, running through the village, has 
not recovered from its race down the steeps, and 
has not been able to moderate its pace. Like 
an arrow, it shoots past. Through exaltations 
and depressions of the rail train, and on ascending 
and descending grades, we arrived at the place 
of which we had heard and read so much. The 
morning was as glorious as any other morning 
that was let down out of the heavens. Though 
many thousands of people from many quarters 
of the earth had lodged that night in Ober- 
Ammergau, the place at dawn was as silent as a 
hunter's cabin in any of the mountains of Bavaria. 
The Ammergauers are a quiet people. They speak 
in low tones, and are themselves masters of the 
art of silence. Their step, as well as their voice, 



THE PASSION PLAY 377 



is quiet. Reverence and courtesy are among 
their characteristics. Though merry enough, 
and far from being dolorous, I think the most of 
them feel themselves called to a solemn duty, 
that in some later time they will be called to take 
part in absorbing solemnities, for about 700 
performers appear in the wonderful performance ; 
there are only about 1,400 inhabitants. 

While the morning is still morning, soon after 
7 o'clock, hundreds and thousands of people, 
nearly all on foot, are moving in one direction, 
so that you do not have to ask for the place of 
mighty convocation. Through fourteen large 
double doors the audience enter. Everything in 
the immense building is so plain that nothing 
could be plainer, and the seats are cushionless, 
a fact which becomes thoroughly pronounced 
after you have for eight hours, with only brief 
intermissions, been seated on them. 

All is expectancy ! 

The signal gun outside the building sounds 
startlingly. We are not about to witness an 
experiment, but to look upon something which 
has been in preparation and gathering force for 
two hundred and sixty-six years. It was put upon 
the stage not for financial gain but as a prayer 
to God for the removal of a Destroying Angel 
which had with his wings swept to death other 
villages, and was then destroying Ober-Ammergau. 
It was a dying convulsion in which Widowhood 
and Orphanage and Childlessness vowed that if 
the Lord should drive back that Angel of Death, 
then every ten years they would in the most 
realistic and overwhelming manner show the 
world what Christ had done to save it. 

They would reproduce His groan. They would 
show the blood-tipped spear. They would depict 
the demoniac grin of ecclesiastics who gladly heard 



378 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



perjurers testify against the best Friend the 
world ever had, but who declined to hear any- 
thing in His defence. They would reproduce the 
spectacle of silence amid wrong ; a silence with 
not a word of protest, or vindication, or beseech- 
ment ; a silence that was louder than the thunder 
that broke from the heavens that day when at 
12 o'clock at noon was as dark as 12 o'clock at 
night. 

Poets have been busy for many years putting 
the Passion Play into rhythm. The Bavarian 
Government had omitted from it everything 
frivolous. The chorus would be that of drilled 
choirs. Men and women who had never been out 
of the sight of the mountains which guarded their 
homes would do with religious themes what the 
David Garricks and the Macreadys and the 
Ristoris and the Charlotte Cushmans did with 
secular themes. On a stage as unpretentious as 
foot ever trod there would be an impersonation 
that would move the world. The greatest 
tragedyof all times would find fit tragedian. We 
were not there that August morning to see an 
extemporised performance. As long ago as last 
December the programme for this stupendous 
rendering was all made out. No man or woman 
who had the least thing objectionable in character 
or reputation might take part. 

The Passion Council, made up of the pastor of 
the village church and six devout members, 
together with the Mayor and ten councillors 
selected for their moral worth, assembled. After 
special Divine service, in which heaven's direction 
was sought, the vote was taken, and the following 
persons were appointed to appear in the more 
important parts of the Passion Play : Rochus 
Lang, Herod ; John Zwink, J udas ; Andreas 
Braun, Joseph of Arimathea ; Bertha Wolf, 



GREAT ACTORS 



379 



Magdalen ; Sebastian Baur, Pilate ; Peter Rendi, 
John ; William Rutz, Nicodemus ; Thomas 
Rendi, Peter ; Anna Flunger, Mary ; Anton 
Lang, Christ. 

The music began its triumphant roll, and the 
curtains were divided and pulled back to the 
sides of the stage. Lest we repeat the only 
error in the sacred drama, that of prolixity, we 
will not give in minutiae what we saw and heard. 
The full text of the play is translated and pub- 
lished by my friend, the Reverend Doctor Dickey, 
pastor of the American Church of Berlin, and takes 
up 169 pages, mostly in fine print. 

I only describe what most impressed me. 

There is a throng of people of all classes in the 
streets of Jerusalem, by look and gesture in- 
dicating that something wonderful is advancing. 
Acclamations fill the air. The crowd parts 
enough to allow Christ to pass, seated on the 
side of a colt, which was led by the John whom 
Jesus especially loved. The Saviour's hands are 
spread above the throng in benediction, while He 
looks upon them with a kindness and sympathy 
that win the love of the excited multitude. 
Arriving at the door of the Temple, Jesus dismounts 
and, walking over the palm branches and gar- 
ments which are strewn and unrolled in His way, 
He enters the Temple, and finds that parts of 
that sacred structure are turned into a market- 
place, with cages of birds and small droves of 
lambs and heifers which the dealers would sell to 
those who wanted to make a " live offering " in 
the Temple. Indignation gathers on the counten- 
ance of Christ where gentleness had reigned. He 
denounces these merchants, who stood there 
over-reaching in their bargains and exorbitantly 
outrageous in their charges. The doors of the 
cages holding the pigeons are opened, and in their 



380 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



escape they fly over the stage and over the 
audience. The table on which the exchangers 
had been gathering unreasonable percentage was 
thrown down, and the coin rattled over the floor, 
and the place was cleared of the dishonest in- 
vaders, who go forth to plot the ruin and the 
death of Him who had so suddenly expelled them. 

The most impressive character in all the sacred 
drama is Christ. 

The impersonator, Anton Lang, seems by 
nature far better fitted for this part than was his 
predecessor, Josef Mayr, who took that part in 
1870, 1880, and 1890. Mayr is very tall, brawny, 
athletic. His hair was black in those days, and 
his countenance now is severe. He must have 
done it well, but I can hardly imagine him im- 
personating gentleness and complete submission 
to abuse. But Anton Lang, with his blonde 
complexion, his light hair, blue eyes and delicate 
mouth, his exquisiteness of form and quietness 
of manner, is just like what Raphael and many of 
the old masters present. When we talked with 
Anton Lang in private he looked exactly as he 
looked in the Passion Play. This is his first year 
in the Christ character, and his success is beyond 
criticism. In his trade as a carver of wood he 
has so much to do in imitating the human 
countenance that he understands the full power 
of expression. The way he listens to the unjust 
charges in the court room, his bearing when the 
ruffians bind him, and his manner when, by a 
hand, thick-gloved so as not to get hurt, a crown 
of thorns was put upon his brow, and the officers 
with long bands of wood press it down upon the 
head of the sufferer, all show that he has a talent 
to depict infinite agony. 

No more powerful acting was ever seen on the 
stage than that of John Zwink, the Judas. In 



JUDAS 



381 



repose there is no honester face in Ober-Ammer- 
gau than his. Twenty years ago he appeared in 
the Passion Play as St. John ; one would suppose 
that he would do best in a representation of 
geniality and mildness. But in the character 
of Judas he represents, in every wrinkle of his 
face, and in every curl of his hair, and in every 
glare of his eye, and in every knuckle of his hand 
with which he clutches the money bag, hypocrisy 
and avarice and hate and low strategy and dia- 
bolism. The quickness with which he grabs the 
bribe for the betrayal of the Lord, the villainous 
leer at the Master while seated at the holy supper, 
show him to be capable of any wickedness. What 
a spectacle when the traitorous lips are pressed 
against the pure cheek of the Immaculate One, 
the disgusting smack desecrating the holy symbol 
of love. 

But after Judas has done his deadly work then 
there comes upon him a remorse and terror such 
as you have never seen depicted unless you have 
witnessed the Passion Play at the foot of the 
Bavarian mountains. His start at imaginary 
sounds, his alarm at a creaking door, his fear at 
nothing, the grinding teeth and the clenched fist 
indicative of mental torture, the dishevelled 
hair, the beating of his breast with his hands, the 
foaming mouth, the implication, the shriek, the 
madness, the flying here and there in the one 
attempt to get rid of himself, the horror increased 
at his every appearance, whether in company or 
alone, regarded in contrast with the dagger scene 
of " Macbeth " makes the latter mere child's play. 
That day, John Zwink, in the character of Judas, 
preached fifty sermons on the ghastliness of be- 
trayal. The fire-smart of ill-gotten gain, the iron- 
beaked vulture of an aroused conscience ; all the 
bloodhounds of despair seemed tearing him. Then, 



382 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



when he can endure the anguish no longer, he 
loosens the long girdle from his waist and 
addresses that girdle as a snake, crying out : — 

" Ha ! Come, thou serpent, entwine my neck 
and strangle the betrayer," and hastily ties it 
about his neck and tightens it, then rushes up to 
the branch of a tree for suicide, and the curtain 
closes before the 4,000 breathless auditors. 

Do I approve of the Passion Play at Ober- 
Ammergau ? 

My only answer is that I was never so impressed 
in all my life with the greatness of the price that 
was paid for the redemption of the human race. 
The suffering depicted was so awful that I cannot 
now understand how I could have endured 
looking upon its portrayal. It is amazing that 
thousands in the audience did not faint into a 
swoon as complete as that of the soldiers who fell 
on the stage at the Lord's reanimation from 
Joseph's mausoleum. 

Imagine what it would be to see a soldier 
seemingly thrust a spear into the Saviour's side, 
and to see the crimson rush from the laceration. 

Would I see it acted again ? No. I would not 
risk my nerves again under the strain of such a 
horror. One dreams of it nights after. 

When Christ carrying His cross falls under it, 
and you see Him on His hands and knees, His 
forehead ensanguined with the twisted brambles, 
and Veronica comes to Him offering a handker- 
chief to wipe away the tears, and sweat and 
blood, your own forehead becomes beaded with 
perspiration. As the tragedy moves on, solemnity 
is added to solemnity. Not so much as a smile 
in the eight hours, except the slight snicker of 
some fool, such as is sure to be found in all 
audiences, when the cock crew twice after Peter 
had denied him thrice. 



CHRIST'S AGONY 383 



What may seem strange to some, I was as 
much impressed with Christ's mental agony as 
with his physical pangs. Oh ! what a scene when 
in Gethsemane He groaned over the sins of the 
world for which He was making expiation, until 
the angelic throngs of heaven were so stirred by 
His impassioned utterance that one of their 
white-winged number came out and down to 
comfort the Angel of the New Covenant ! 

Some of the tableaux or living pictures between 
the acts of this drama were graphic and thrilling, 
such as Adam and Eve expelled from arborescence 
into homelessness ; Joseph, because of his pictur- 
esque attire sold into serfdom, from which he 
mounts to the Prime Minister's chair ; the palace 
gates shut against Queen Vashti because she 
declines to be immodest ; manna snowing down 
into the hands of the hungry Israelites ; grapes of 
Eshcol so enormous that one cluster is carried by 
two men on a staff between them ; Naboth 
stoned to death because Ahab wants his vineyard ; 
blind Samson between the pillars of the Temple 
of Dagon, making very destructive sport for his 
enemies. These tableaux are chiefly intended as 
a breathing spell between the acts of the drama. 
The music rendered requires seven basses and 
seven tenors, ten sopranos and ten contraltos. 
Edward Lang has worked thirty years educating 
the musical talent of the village. The Passion 
Play itself is beyond criticism, though it would 
have been mightier if two hours less in its per- 
formance. The subtraction would be an addition. 

The drama progresses from the entering into 
Jerusalem to the condemnation by the Sanhedrim, 
showing all the world that crime may be com- 
mitted according to law as certainly as crime 
against^the law. 

Oh, the hard-visaged tribunal; countenances 



384 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



as hard as the spears, as hard as the spikes, as 
hard as the rocks under which the Master was 
buried ! Who can hear the metallic voice of that 
Caiaphas without thinking of some church court 
that condemned a man better than themselves ? 
Caiaphas is as hateful as Judas. Blessed is that 
denomination of religionists which has not more 
than one Caiaphas! 

On goes the scene till we reach the goodby of 
Mary and Christ at Bethany. Who will ever for- 
get that woman's cry, or the face from which 
suffering has dried the last tear ? Who would 
have thought that Anna Flunger, the maiden of 
twenty-five years, could have transformed her 
fair and happy face into such concentration of 
gloom and grief and woe ? Mary must have 
known that the goodbye at Bethany was final, 
and that the embrace of that Mother and Son was 
their last earthly embrace. It was the saddest 
parting since the earth was made, never to be 
equalled while the earth stands. 

WTiat groups of sympathetic women trying to 
comfort her, as only women can comfort ! 

On goes the sacred drama till we come to the 
foot-washing. A few days before, while we were 
in Vienna, we had explained to us the annual 
ceremony of foot washing by the Emperor of 
Austria. It always takes place at the close of 
Lent. Twelve very old people are selected from 
the poorest of the poor. They are brought to the 
palace. At the last foot-washing the youngest 
of the twelve was 86 years of age, and the oldest 
92. The Imperial family and all those in high 
places gather for this ceremony. An officer 
precedes the Emperor with a basin of water. For 
many days the old people have been preparing 
for the scene. The Emperor goes down on one 
knee before each one of these venerable people, 



THE FOOT WASHING 385 



puts water on the arch of the foot and then wipes 
it with a towel. When this is done a rich provision 
of food and drink is put before each one of the 
old people, but immediately removed before 
anything is tasted. Then the food and the cups 
and the knives and the forks are put in twelve 
sacks and each one has his portion allotted him. 
The old people come to the foot-washing in the 
Emperor's carriage and return in the same way, 
and they never forget the honour and splendour 
of that occasion. 

Oh, the contrast between that foot-washing 
amid pomp and brilliant ceremony and the imi- 
tated foot-washing of our Lord at Ober-Ammer- 
gau. Before each one of the twelve Apostles 
Christ comes down so slowly that a sigh of emotion 
passes through the great throng of spectators. 
Christ even washes the feet of Judas. Was there 
in all time or eternity past, or will there be in 
all time or eternity to come, such a scene of self- 
abnegation ? The Lord of heaven and earth 
stooping to such a service which must have 
astounded the heavens more than its dramatisa- 
tion overpowered us! What a stunning rebuke 
to the pride and arrogance and personal ambition 
of all ages! 

The Hand of God on Human Foot in Ablution ! 

No wonder the quick-tempered Peter thought 
it incongruous, and forbade its taking place, 
crying out : " Thou shalt never wash my feet ! " 
But the Lord broke him down until Peter 
vehemently asked that his head and his hands be 
washed as well as his feet. 

During eight hours on that stage it seems as 
though we were watching a battle between the 
demons of the Pit and the seraphs of Light, and the 
demons triumph. Eight hours telling a sadness, 
with every moment worse than its predecessor. 

2 c 



386 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



All the world against Him, and hardly any 
let up so that we feel like leaving our place 
and rushing for the stage and giving con- 
gratulations with both hands to Simon of Cyrene 
as he lightens the Cross from the shoulder of the 
sufferer, and to Nicodemus who voted an em- 
phatic 4 4 No" at the condemnation, and to Joseph 
of Arimathea who asks the honour of being 
undertaker at the obsequies. 

Scene after scene, act after act, until at the 
scourging every stroke fetches the blood ; and 
the purple mantle is put upon Him in derision, 
and they slap His face and they push Him off 
the stool upon which He sits, laughing at His fall. 
On, until from behind the curtain you hear the 
thumping of the hammers on the spikes ; on, 
until hanging between two bandits, He pledges 
Paradise within twenty-four hours to the one, 
and commits His own broken-hearted mother to 
John, asking him to take care of her in her old age; 
and His complaint of thirst brings a sponge 
moistened with sour wine on the end of a staff ; 
and blasphemy has hurled at Him its last curse, 
and malice has uttered concerning Him its last 
lie, and contempt has spit upon Him its last foam, 
and the resources of perdition are exhausted, and 
from the shuddering form and white lips comes 
the exclamation, " It is finished ! " 

At that moment there resounded across the 
river Ammer and through the village of Ober- 
Ammergau a crash that was responded to by the 
echoes of the Bavarian mountains. The rocks 
tumbled back off the stage, and the heavens 
roared and the graves of the dead were wrecked, 
and it seemed as if the earth itself had foundered 
inpts voyage through the sky. The great audience 
almost leaped to its feet at the sound of that 
tempest and earthquake. 



THE GREAT FINALE 387 



Look ! the ruffians are tossing dice for the 
ownership of the Master's coat. The darkness 
thickens. Night, blackening night. Hark ! The 
wolves are howling for the corpse of the slain 
Lord. Then, with more pathos and tenderness 
than can be seen in Rubens' picture, " Descent 
from the Cross," in the cathedral at Antwerp, is 
the dead Christ lowered, and there rises the wailing 
of crushed motherhood, and with solemn tread 
the mutilated body is sepulchred. But soon the 
door of the mausoleum falls and forth comes the 
Christ and, standing on the shoulder of Mount 
Olivet, He is ready for ascension. Then the 
" Hallelujah Chorus " from the 700 voices before 
and behind the scenes closes the most wonderful 
tragedy ever enacted. 

As we rose for departure we felt like saying with 
the blind preacher, whom William Wirt, the 
orator of Virginia, heard concluding his sermon to 
a backwoods congregation : 

" Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus 
died like a God ! " 

I have been asked whether this play would 
ever be successfully introduced into America or 
England. I think there is some danger that it 
may be secularised and turned into a mercenary 
institution. Instead of the long ride by carriages 
over rough mountain roads for days and days, 
as formerly was necessary in order to reach 
Ober-Ammergau, there are now two trains a day 
which land tourists for the Passion Play, and 
among them may appear some American theatri- 
cal manager who, finding that John Zwink of 
Ober-Ammergau impersonates the spirit of grab 
and cheat and insincerity better than any one 
who treads the American stage, and only received 
for his wonderful histrionic ability what equals 
forty-five pounds sterling for ten years, may offer 



388 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



him five times as much compensation for one 
night. If avarice could clutch Judas with such a 
relentless grasp at the offer of thirty pieces of 
silver, what might be the proportionate tempta- 
tion of a thousand pieces of gold ! 

The impression made upon Dr. Talmage by the 
Passion Play was stirring and reverent. He des- 
cribed it as one of the most tremendous and 
fearful experiences of his life. 

" I have seen it once, but I would not see it 
again," he said, " I would not dare risk my nerves 
to such an awful, harrowing ordeal. Accustomed 
as I am to think almost constantly on all that the 
Bible means, the Passion Play was an unfolding, 
a new and thrilling interpretation, a revelation. 
I never before realised the capabilities of the 
Bible for dramatic representation." 

W e went from Ober- Ammergau to that modern 
Eden for the overwrought nerves of kings and 
commoners — Baden-baden, where we spent ten 
days. At the end of this time we returned to Paris 
to enjoy the Exposition at our leisure. Paris is 
always a place of brightness and pleasure. King 
Leopold of Belgium was among the distinguished 
guests of the French capital, whom we saw one 
day while driving in the Bois. We made visits to 
Versailles and the palace of Fontainebleau. The 
Doctor enjoyed these trips into the country, and 
always manged to make his arrangements so that 
he could go with us. From Paris we went to 
London for a farewell visit. Dr. Talmage had 
promised to preach in John Wesley's chapel in the 
City Road, known as 44 The Cathedral of 
Methodism." 

On Sunday, September 30, 1900, the crowd was 
so great that had come to hear Dr. Talmage that a 
cordon of police was necessary to guard the big 
iron gates after the church was filled. The text of 



STOPPING TRAFFIC IN LONDON 889 



his sermon that day was significant. It may have 
been a conception of his own life work — its text. 
It was taken from a passage in the eleventh 
chapter of Daniel : — 

" The people that do know their God shall be 
strong and do exploits." 

It is difficult to conceive of the enthusiasm that 
Dr. Talmage aroused everwhere, of the immense 
crowds that gathered to see and hear him. During 
our stay in London this time, after a preaching 
service in a church in Piccadilly, the wheels of our 
carriage were seized and we were like a small 
island in a black sea of restless men and women. 
The driver couldn't move. The Doctor took it 
with great delight and stood up in the carriage, 
making an address. From where he was standing 
he could not see the police charging the crowd to 
scatter them. When he did, he realised that he was 
aiding in obstructing the best regulated thorough- 
fare in London. Stopping his address, he said, 
" We must recognise the authority of the law," 
and sat down. It was said that Dr. Talmage was 
the only man who had ever stopped the traffic in 
Piccadilly. 

From London Dr. Talmage and I went together 
for a short visit to the Isle of Wight, and later to 
Swansea where he preached; we left the girls 
with Lady Lyle, at Sir John Lyle's house in 
London. 

It had become customary whenever the Doctor 
made an address to ask me to sit on the platform, 
and in this way I became equal to looking a big 
audience in the face, but one day the Doctor 
over-estimated my talents. He came in with more 
than his usual whir, and said to me : 

" Eleanor, I have been asked if you won't 
dedicate a new building at the Wood Green 
Wesley an Church in North London. I said I 



390 THE THIRD MILESTONE 



thought you would, and accepted for you. Won't 
you please do this for me ? " 

There was no denying him, and I consented, 
provided he would help me with the address. 
He did, and on the appointed day when we drove 
out to the place I had the notes of my speech held 
tightly crumpled in my glove. There was the usual 
crowd that had turned out to hear Dr. Talmage 
who was to preach afterwards, and I was genuinely 
frightened. I remember as we climbed the steps 
to the speaker's platform, the Doctor whispered 
to me, " Courage, Eleanor, what other women 
have done you can do." I almost lost my equili- 
brium when I was presented with a silver trowel 
as a souvenir of the event. There was nothing 
about a silver trowel in my notes. However, the 
event passed off without any calamity but it was 
my first and last appearance in public. 

As the time approached for us to return to 
America the Doctor looked forward to the day of 
sailing. It had all been a wonderful experience 
even to him who had for so many years been in 
the glare of public life. He had reached the highest 
mark of public favour as a man, and as a preacher 
was the most celebrated of his time. I wonder 
now, as I realise the strain of work he was under, 
that he gave me so little cause for anxiety con- 
sidering his years. He was a marvel of health and 
strength. There may have been days when his 
genius burned more dimly than others, and often 
I would ask him if the zest of his work was as 
great if he was a bit tired, hoping that he would 
yield a little to the trend of the years, but he was 
as strong and buoyant in his energies as if each 
day were a new beginning. His enjoyment of life 
was inspiring, his hold upon the beauty of it 
never relaxed. 

From London we went to Belfast, on a very 



IN IRELAND 



391 



stormy day. Dr. Talmage was advised to wait a 
while, but he had no fear of anything. That 
crossing of the Irish Channel was the worst sea 
trip I ever had. We arrived in Belfast battered 
and ill from the stormy passage, all but the Doctor, 
who went stoically ahead with his engagements 
with undiminished vigour. Going up in the eleva- 
tor of the hotel one day, we met Mrs. Langtry. 
Dr. Talmage had crossed the ocean with her. 

" Won't you come and see my play to-night ? " 
she asked him. 

" I am very sorry, Madame, but I am speaking 
myself to-night," said the Doctor courteously. 
He told me afterwards how fortunate he felt it 
to be that he was able to make a real excuse. 
Invitations to the theatre always embarrassed 
him. 

From Belfast we went to Cork for a few days, 
making a trip to the Killarney lakes before sailing 
from Queenstown on October 18, 1900, on the 
" Oceanic." 

" Isn't it good to be going back to America, 
back to that beautiful city of Washington," said 
the Doctor, the moment we got on board. 

Whatever he was doing, whichever way he was 
going, he was always in pursuit of the joy of 
living. Although the greatest year of my life was 
drawing to a close, it all seemed then like an 
achievement rather than a farewell, like the 
beginning of a perfect happiness, the end of which 
was in remote perspective. 



THE LAST MILESTONE 



1900—1902 

There was no warning of the divine purpose ; 
there was no pause of weakness or illness in his 
life to foreshadow his approaching end. Until 
the last sunset hours of his useful days he always 
seemed to me a man of iron. He had stood in the 
midst of crowds a towering figure ; but away 
from them his life had been a studied annihilation, 
an existence of hidden sacrifice to his great work. 
He used to say to me : " Eleanor, I have lived 
among crowds, and yet I have been much of the 
time quite alone." But alone or in company his 
mind was ever active, his great heart ever intent 
on his apostolate of sunshine and help towards 
his fellow-men. And the good things he said were 
not alone the utterances of his public career ; 
they came bubbling forth as from a spring during 
the course of his daily life, in his home and among 
his friends, even with little children. Books have 
been written styled, 66 Conversations of Eminent 
Men " ; and I have often thought had his 
ordinary conversations been reported, or, better, 
could the colossal crowds who admired him have 
been, as we, his privileged listeners, they would 
have been no less charmed with his brilliant talk 
than with the public displays of eloquence with 
which they were so captivated. 

392 



THE DIVINE PURPOSE 398 



Immediately after his return from Europe in 
the autumn of 1900, Dr. Talmage took up his 
work with renewed vigour and enthusiasm. He 
stepped back into his study as if a new career of 
preaching awaited him. Never, indeed, had a 
Sunday passed, since our union, on which he had 
not given his divine message from the pulpit ; 
never had he missed a full, arduous, wearisome 
day's work in his Master's vineyard. But I 
think Dr. Talmage now wrote and preached more 
industriously and vigorously than I had ever 
seen him before. His work had become so im- 
portant an element in the character of American 
life, and in the estimate of the American people 
— I might add, in that of many foreign peoples, 
too — that his consciousness of it seemed to double 
and treble his powers ; he was carried along on a 
great wave of enthusiasm ; and in the joy of it 
all, we, with the thousands who bowed before 
his influence, looked naturally for a great many 
years of a life of such wide-spread usefulness. 
Over him had come a new magic of autumnal 
youth and strength that touched the inspirations 
of his mind and increased the optimism of his 
heart. No one could have suspected that the 
golden bowl was so soon to be broken ; that the 
pitcher, still so full of the refreshing draughts of 
wisdom, was about to be crushed at the fountain. 
But so it was to be. 

Invigorated by his delightful foreign trip, Dr. 
Talmage now resumed his labours with happy 
heart and effervescing zeal. He used to say : "I 
don't care how old a man gets to be, he never 
ought to be over eighteen years of age." And he 
seemed now to be a living realisation of his words. 
He had given up his regular pastorate at the First 
Presbyterian Church in Washington, that he 
might devote himself to broader responsibilities, 



394 THE LAST MILESTONE 



which seemed to have fallen upon him because 
of his world-wide reputation. I cannot forbear 
quoting here — as it reveals so much the character 
of the man — a portion of his farewell letter, the 
mode he took of giving his parting salutation : 

"The world is full of farewells, and one of the 
hardest words to utter is goodby. What glorious 
Sabbaths we have had together ! What holy 
communions ! What thronged assemblages ! 
Forever and forever we will remember them. . . . 
And now in parting I thank you for your kindness 
to me and mine. I have been permitted, Sabbath 
by Sabbath, to confront, with the tremendous 
truths of the Gospel, as genial and lovely, and 
cultivated and noble people as I ever knew, and 
it is a sadness to part with them. . . . May the 
richest blessing of God abide with you ! May your 
sons and daughters be the sons and daughters of 
the Lord Almighty ! And may we all meet in the 
heavenly realms to recount the divine mercies 
which have accompanied us all the way, and to 
celebrate, world without end, the grace that enabled 
us to conquer ! And now I give you a tender, a 
hearty, a loving, a Christian goodby. 

" T. DeWitt Talmage." 

Apart from his active literary and editorial 
work, he was now to devote himself to sermons 
and lectures which should have for audience the 
whole country. As a consequence, on re-entering 
his study after his long absence, he found accumu- 
lated on his desk an immense number of invita- 
tions to preach, applications from all parts of the 
land. He smiled, and expressed more than once 
his conviction that God's Providence had marked 
out his way for him, and here was direct proof of 
His divine call and His fatherly love. 

At a monster meeting in New York this year 



REVIVAL OF RELIGION 395 



Dr. Talmage revived national interest in his 
presence and his Gospel. Ten thousand people 
crowded to the Academy of Music to hear his 
words of encouragement and hope. It was the 
twentieth anniversary of the Bowery Mission, of 
which Dr. Talmage was one of the founders. 
" This century," he said in part, "is to witness 
a great revival of religion. Cities are to be re- 
deemed. Official authority can do much, but 
nothing can take the place of the Gospel of God. 
. . . No man goes deliberately into sin ; he gets 
aboard the great accommodation train of Tempta- 
tion, assured that it will stop at the depot of 
Prudence, or anywhere else he desires, to let him 
off. The conductor cries : 6 All aboard ' and 
off he goes. The train goes faster and faster, and 
presently he wants to get off. 6 Stop ' ! he calls 
to the conductor ; but that official cries back : 
8 This is the fast express and does not stop until 
it reaches the Grand Central Station of Smash- 
upton.' " The sinner can be raised up, he insists. 
" The Bible says God will forgive 490 times. At 
your first cry He will bend down from his throne 
to the depths of your degradation. Put your 
face to the sunrise." 

Faith in God was his armour ; his shield was 
hope ; his amulet was charity. He harnessed the 
events of the world to his chariot of inspiration, 
and sped on his way as in earlier years. He had 
become a foremost preacher of the Gospel because 
he preached under the spell of evangelical impulse, 
under the control of that remarkable faith which 
comes with the transformation of all converted 
men or women. The stillness of the vast crowds 
that stood about the church doors when he 
addressed them briefly in the open air after 
services was a tribute to the spell he cast over 
them by the miracle of that converting grace. 



396 THE LAST MILESTONE 



He was quite unconscious of the attention he 
attracted outside the pulpit, on the street, in the 
trains. His celebrity was not the consequence of 
his endeavours to obtain it, nor was it won, as 
some declared, by studied dramatic effects ; it 
was the result of his moments of inspiration, 
combined with continual and almost superhuman 
mental labour — labour that was a fountain of 
perennial delight to him, but none the less 
labour. 

If " Genius is infinite patience," as a French 
writer said, Dr. Talmage possessed it in an 
eminent degree. Every sermon he ever wrote was 
an output of his full energies, his whole heart and 
mind ; and while dictating his sermons in his 
study, he preached them before an imaginary 
audience, so earnest was his desire to reach the 
hearts of his hearers and produce upon them a 
lasting influence. His sermons were born not of 
the crowd, but for the crowd, in deep religious 
fervour and conviction. His lectures, incisive 
and far-reaching as they were in their conceptions 
and in their moral and social effects, were not so 
impressive as his sermons, with their undertone 
of divine inspiration. 

In accord with an invitation sent to us in Paris, 
from the Governor of Pennsylvania, we went to 
Harrisburg as the guests at the Executive 
Mansion, where a dinner and reception were given 
Dr. Talmage in honour of his return from abroad. 
During this dinner, the Rev. Dr. John Wesley 
Hill, then pastor of the church in Harrisburg in 
which Dr. Talmage preached, told us of a rare 
autograph letter of Lincoln, which he owned. It 
was his wish that Dr. Talmage should have it in 
his house, where he thought more people would 
see it. The next day, Dr. Hill sent this letter to 
us : — 



A GREAT WELCOME 397 



" Gentlemen, — In response to your address, 
allow me to attest the accuracy of its historical 
statements ; indorse the sentiments it expresses ; 
and thank you, in the nation's name, for the sure 
promise it gives. 

" Nobly sustained as the government has been 
by all the churches, I would utter nothing which 
might, in the least, appear invidious against any. 
Yet, without this, it may fairly be said that the 
Methodist Episcopal Church, not less devoted 
than the best, is, by its greater numbers, the most 
important of all. It is no fault in others that the 
Methodist Church sends more soldiers to the field, 
more nurses to the hospitals, and more prayers to 
Heaven than any. God bless the Methodist 
Church — bless all the churches — and blessed be 
God, Who, in this our great trial, giveth us the 
churches. 

" A. Lincoln. 

" May 18th, 1864." 

A great welcome was given Dr. Talmage in 
Brooklyn, in November, 1900, when he preached 
in the Central Presbyterian Church there. It 
was the Doctor's second appearance in a Brooklyn 
church after the burning of the Tabernacle in 
1894. 

It was urged in the newspapers that he might 
return to his old home. The invitation was 
tempting, judging by the thousands who crowded 
that Sunday to hear him. In my scrapbook I 
read of this occasion : 

" Women fainted, children were half -crushed, 
gowns were torn and strong men grew red in the 
face as they buffeted the crowds that had 
gathered to greet the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage 
at the Central Presbyterian Church in Brooklyn." 

In the autumn of 1900, an anniversary of East 



398 THE LAST MILESTONE 



Hampton, N.Y., was held, and the Doctor entered 
energetically and happily into the celebration, 
preaching in the little village church which had 
echoed to his voice in the early days of his minis- 
try. It was a far call backward over nearly five 
decades of his teeming life. And he, whose magic 
style, whether of word or pen, had enchanted 
millions over the broad world — how well he 
remembered the fears and misgivings that had 
accompanied those first efforts, with the warning 
of his late professors ringing in his ears : " You 
must change your style, otherwise no pulpit will 
ever be open to you." 

Now he could look back over more than a 
quarter of a century during which his sermons had 
been published weekly ; through syndicates they 
had been given to the world in 3,600 different 
papers, and reached, it was estimated, 30,000,000 
people in the United States and other countries. 
They were translated into most European and 
even into Asiatic languages. His collected dis- 
courses were already printed in twenty volumes, 
while material remained for almost as many more. 
His style, too, in spite of his " original eccentri- 
cities," had attracted hundreds of thousands of 
readers to his books on miscellaneous subjects — 
all written with a moral purpose. Among a score 
of them I might mention : From Manger to 
Throne ; The Pathway of Life ; Crumbs Swept 
Up ; Every-day Religion ; The Marriage Ring ; 
Woman : her Powers and Privileges. 

Dr. Talmage edited several papers beginning 
with The Christian at W ork ; afterwards he took 
charge, successively, of the Advance, Frank 
Leslie } s Sunday Magazine, and finally The 
Christian Herald, of which he continued to be 
chief editor till the end of his life. He spoke and 
wrote earnestly of the civilising and educational 



* * 7 

'-t^Cw A^t? /^ f £y XT4 j^^c^ 

^ ^ , ^ ^ f^^^ 

FACSIMILE OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LETTER. 




DR. TALMAGE, EDITOR 399 



power of the press, and felt that in availing him- 
self of it and thereby furnishing lessons of right- 
eousness and good cheer to millions, he was 
multiplying beyond measure his short span of 
life and putting years into hours. He said : " My 
lecture tours seem but hand-shaking with the 
vast throngs whom I have been enabled to preach 
to through the press." 

His editorials were often wrought out in the 
highest style of literary art. I am pleased to give 
the following estimate from an author who knew 
him well : "As an editorial writer, Dr. Talmage 
was versatile and prolific, and his weekly contri- 
butions on an immense variety of topics would 
fill many volumes. His writing was as entertain- 
ing and pungent as his preaching, and full of 
brilliant eccentricities — 6 Talmagisms,' as they 
were called. He coined new words and invented 
new phrases. If the topic was to his liking, the 
pen raced to keep time with the thought. . . . 
Still, with all this haste, nothing could exceed 
the scrupulous care he took with his finished 
manuscript. He once wired from Cincinnati to 
his publisher in New York instructions to change 
a comma in his current sermon to a semicolon. 
He had detected the error while reading proof 
on the train." 

Dr. Tannage's personal mail was thought to be 
the largest of any man in the country, outside of 
some of the public officers. Thousands, men and 
women, appealed to him for advice in spiritual 
things, revealing to him intimate family affairs, 
laying their hearts bare before him as before a 
trusted physician of the soul. I have seen him 
moved to the depths of his nature by some of 
these white missives bearing news of conversion 
to faith in Christ wrought by his sermons ; of 
families rent asunder united through his words 



400 THE LAST MILESTONE 



of love and broadmindedness ; of mothers whose 
broken hearts he had healed by leading back the 
prodigal son ; of prisoners whose hope in life and 
trust in a loving Father had been awakened by a 
casual reading of some of . 's comforting para- 
graphs. 

The life of Dr. Talmage was by no means the 
luxurious one of the man of wealth and ease it was 
sometimes represented to be. He could not 
endure that men should have this aspect of him. 
He was a plain man in his tastes and his habits ; 
the impression that he was ambitious for wealth, 
I know, was a false one. I do not believe he ever 
knew the value of money. The possession of it 
gave him little gratification except for its use in 
helping to carry on the great work he had in hand ; 
and, indeed, he never knew how little or how much 
he had. He never would own horses lest he 
should give people reason to accuse him of being 
arrogantly rich. We drove a great deal, but he 
always insisted on hiring his carriages. If he 
accepted remuneration for his brain and heart 
labour, Scripture tells us, " The labourer is 
worthy of his hire." He was foremost in helping 
in any time of public calamity, not only in our 
own country but more than once in foreign lands. 
And when volumes of his sermons were pirated 
over the country, and he was urged to take legal 
steps to stop the injustice, he said : " Let them 
alone ; the sermons will go farther and do more 
good." 

Dr. Talmage's opinions were sought eagerly, 
and upon all subjects of social, political, or inter- 
national interest. He was a student of men, and 
kept ever in close touch with the progress of 
events. A voluminous and rapid reader, he was 
quick to grasp the aim and significance of what 
he read and apply it to his purpose. His library 



THE BIBLE 



401 



in Washington contained a large and valuable 
collection of classics, ancient and modern ; and 
his East Hampton library was almost a duplicate 
of this. He never travelled very far without a 
trunkful of books. I remember, in the first year 
of our marriage, his interest in some books I had 
brought from my home that were new to him. 
Many of them he had not had time to read, so, 
in the evenings, I used to read them aloud to him. 
Tolstoi's works were his first choice ; together 
we read a life of the great Russian, which the 
Doctor enjoyed immensely. 

The Bible was ever held by Dr. Talmage in 
extreme reverence, which grew with his continual 
study and meditation of the sacred pages. He 
repudiated the " higher criticism " with a vehe- 
mence that caused him to be sharply assailed by 
modern critics — pronounced infidels or of infidel 
proclivities — who called him a " bibliolater." 
He asserted and reasserted his belief in its divine 
inspiration : " The Bible is right in its authenti- 
city, right in its style, right in its doctrine, and 
right in its effects. There is less evidence that 
Shakespeare wrote 'Hamlet,' that Milton wrote 
' Paradise Lost,' or that Tennyson wrote ' The 
Charge of the Light Brigade,' than that 
the Bible is God's Word, written under in- 
spiration by evangelists and prophets. It has 
stood the bombardment of ages, but with the 
result of more and more proof of its being a 
book divinely written and protected." " Science 
and Revelation are the bass and soprano of the 
same tune," he said. He defied the attempts of 
the loud-mouthed orators to destroy belief in the 
Bible. " I compare such men as Ingersoll, in their 
attacks on the Bible, to a grasshopper upon a 
railway-line with the express coming thundering 
along." 



2 D 



402 THE LAST MILESTONE 

His living portraits of Jesus, the Saviour of 
men, his studies of that divine life, of the words, 
the actions of the Son of God, especially of His 
sufferings and death, merging into the glory of 
His resurrection and ascension, are all well known 
to those who were of his wide audience. The 
sweetness, gentleness, and sympathy of the 
Saviour were favourite themes with him. In a 
sermon on tears, he says : " Jesus had enough 
trials to make him sympathetic with all sorrowful 
souls. The shortest verse in the Bible tells the 
story : ' Jesus wept.' The scar on the back of 
either hand, the scar in the arch of either foot, 
the row of scars along the line of the hair, will 
keep all Heaven thinking. Oh, that Great Weeper 
is the One to silence all earthly trouble, to wipe 
all the stains of earthly grief. Gentle ! Why, His 
step is softer than the step of the dew. It will 
not be a tyrant bidding you hush your crying. 
It will be a Father who will take you on His left 
arm, His face beaming into yours, while with the 
soft tips of the fingers of the right hand He shall 
wipe away all tears from your eyes." And here 
is a word of appeal to those gone astray : " The 
great heart of Christ aches to have you come in ; 
and Jesus this moment looks into your eyes and 
says : 6 Other sheep I have that are not of this 
fold.' " 

Dr. Talmage was at times acutely sensitive to 
the thrusts of sharp criticism dealt to him through 
envy or misunderstanding of his motives. A 
great writer has said somewhere : " Accusations 
make wounds and leave scars " ; but even the 
scars were soon worn off his outraged feelings by 
the remembrance of his divine Master's gentle- 
ness and forgiveness. How often have I seen the 
mandate, " Love your enemies ; do good to them 
that hate you," verified in Dr. Talmage. He 



HIS WILL POWER 408 



could not bear detraction or uncharitableness. 
His heart was so broad and loving that he seemed 
to have room in it for the whole world ; and his 
greeting of strangers on an Australian platform, 
amid the heathers of Scotland, or in the Golden 
Gate of California, was so free and cordial that 
each one might have thought himself a dear friend 
of the Doctor, and he would have been right in 
thinkingso. Again, his sense of humour was so great 
that he could laugh and "poke fun" at his critics 
with such ease and good humour that their arrows 
passed harmlessly over his head. 44 Men have a 
right to their opinions," he would genially say. 
44 There are twenty tall pippin trees in the orchard 
to one crab apple tree. There are a million clover 
blooms to one thistle in the meadow." 

His will power was extraordinary ; it was 
endowed with a persistence that overcame every 
obstacle of his life ; there was an air of supreme 
confidence, of overwhelming vitality, about his 
every act. Nothing seemed to me more wonder- 
ful in him than this ; and it entered into all his 
actions, from those that were important and far- 
reaching in their consequences to the workings 
of his daily life in the home. Though his way 
through these last milestones, during which I 
travelled with him, was chiefly through the 
triumphal archways he had raised for himself 
upon the foundations of his work, there were 
indications that their cornerstone was the will 
power of his nature. 

Many incidents of the years before I knew him 
justify this opinion. One in particular illustrates 
the extraordinary perseverance of Dr. Tannage's 
character. When his son DeWitt was a boy, in 
a sudden mood of adventure one day, he enlisted 
in the United States Navy. Shortly afterwards 
he regretted having done so. Some one went to 



404 THE LAST MILESTONE 



his father and told him that the boy was on board 
a warship at Hampton Roads, homesick and 
miserable. Dr. Talmage went directly to Wash- 
ington, straight into the office of Mr. Thompson, 
the Secretary of the Navy. " I am Dr. Talmage," 
he said promptly ; " my son has enlisted in the 
Navy and is on a ship near Norfolk. I want to 
go to him and bring him home. He is homesick. 
Will you write me an order for his release ? " 
The Secretary replied that it had become an 
impression among rich men's sons that they 
could take an oath of service to the U.S. Govern- 
ment, and break it as soon as their fathers were 
ready, through the influence of wealth, to secure 
their release. He was opposed to such an idea, 
he said ; and, therefore, though he was very sorry, 
he could not grant Dr. Talmage's request. The Doc- 
tor immediately took a chair in the office, and said 
firmly : " I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, 
until you write out an order releasing my son." 

The hour for luncheon came. The Secretary 
invited the Doctor to lunch with him. " I shall 
not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until I get 
that order," was the Doctor's reply. The Secre- 
tary of the Navy left the office ; after an absence 
of an hour and a half, he returned and found Dr. 
Talmage still sitting in the same place. The 
afternoon passed. Dinner time came round. 
" Dr. Talmage, will you not honour me by coming 
up to my house to dine, and staying with us over 
night ? " asked the Secretary. " I shall not leave 
this office until you write out that order releasing 
my son, Mr. Secretary," was the calm, persistent 
reply. The Secretary departed. The building 
was empty, save for a watchman, to whom the 
Secretary said in passing, " There is a gentleman 
in my room. When he wishes to leave let him out 
of the building." 



UNIQUE EXPERIENCES 405 



About nine o'clock at night the Secretary 
became anxious. Telephones were not common 
then, so he went down to the office to investigate ; 
and sitting there in the place where he had been 
all day was Dr. Talmage. The order was written 
that night. This incident was told me by a friend 
of the Doctor's. There can be no doubt that Dr. 
Talmage was justified in this demand of paternal 
love and sympathy, since numbers of such con- 
cessions had been made by the Secretary and his 
predecessors. His daring and his pertinacity 
were overwhelming forces of his genius. 

In the winter months of this year I enjoyed 
another lecturing tour with him through Canada 
and the West. The lecture bureau that arranged 
his tours must have counted on his herculean 
strength, for frequently he had to travel twenty- 
four hours at a stretch to keep his engagements. 
Occasionally he was paid in cash at the end of the 
lecture an amount fixed by the lecture bureau. 
I have seen him with perhaps $2,000 in bills and 
gold stuffed away carelessly in his pocket, as if 
money were merely some curious specimen of no 
special value. Sometimes he would receive his 
fee in a cheque, and, as happened once in a small 
Western town, he would have very little money 
with him. I remember an occasion of this kind, 
because it was amusing. The cheque had been 
given the Doctor as usual at the end of his lecture. 
It was about eleven at night, and we were com- 
pelled to take a midnight train out to reach his 
next place of engagement. At the hotel where we 
stayed they did not have money enough to cash 
the cheque. We walked up the street to the other 
hotel, but found there an equal lack of the cir- 
culating medium. It was a bitter cold night. 

" Here we are out in the world without a roof 
over our heads, Eleanor," said the Doctor, 



406 THE LAST MILESTONE 



merrily. " What a cold world it is to the unfor- 
tunate." Finally Dr. Talmage went to the ticket 
office of the railroad and explained the situation 
to the young man in charge. " I can't give you 
tickets, but I will buy them for you, and you can 
send me the money," the clerk said promptly. As we 
had an all-day ride before us and a drawing room 
to secure, the amount was not inconsiderable. 
I think it was on this trip that William Jennings 
Bryan got on the train and enlivened the journey 
for us. The stories he and the Doctor hammered 
out of the long hours of travel were entertaining. 
We exchanged invitations to the dining car so as 
not to stop the flow of conversation between Mr. 
Bryan and the Doctor. We would invite him to 
lunch, and Mr. Bryan would ask us to dinner, or 
vice versa, so that the social amenities were 
delightfully extended to keep us in mutual 
enjoyment of the trip. Dr. Talmage and myself 
agreed that Mr. Bryan's success on the platform 
was much enhanced by his wonderful voice. 
The Doctor said he had never heard so exquisite 
a speaking voice in a man as Mr. Bryan's. 
He always spoke in eloquent support of the 
masses, denouncing the trusts with vehemence. 

Travelling was always a kind of luxury to me, 
when we were not obliged to stop over at some 
wretched hotel. The Pullman cars were palatial 
in comfort compared to the hotels we had to 
enter. But Dr. Talmage was always satisfied ; 
no hotel, however poor, could alter the cheerful- 
ness of his temperament. 

In January, 1901, Queen Victoria died, and 
Dr. Talmage's eulogy went far and wide. I quote 
again from my scrap-book a part of his comment 
on this world event : 

" While Queen Victoria has been the friend of 
all art, all literature, all science, all invention, all 



QUEEN VICTORIA 407 



reform, her reign will be most remembered for 
all time, all eternity, as the reign of Christianity. 
Beginning with that scene at 5 o'clock in the 
morning in Kensington Palace, where she asked 
the Archbishop of Canterbury to pray for her, 
and they knelt down imploring Divine guidance 
until her last hour, not only in the sublime 
liturgy of her established Church, but on all 
occasions, she has directly or indirectly declared : 
« I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of 
Heaven and Earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only 
begotten Son.' 

" The Queen's book, so much criticised at the 
time of its appearance, some saying that it was 
skilfully done, and some saying that the private 
affairs of a household ought not to have been 
exposed, was nevertheless a book of rare useful- 
ness, from the fact that it showed that God was 
acknowledged in all her life, and that 6 Rock of 
Ages' was not an unusual song at Windsor Castle. 

" I believe that no throne since the throne of 
David and the throne of Hezekiah and the throne 
of Esther, has been in such constant touch with 
the throne of heaven as the throne of Victoria. 
Sixty-three years of womanhood enthroned!" 

In March of 1901 Dr. Talmage inaugurated 
a series of Twentieth Century Revival Meetings 
in the Academy of Music, in New York. It was a 
great Gospel campaign in which thousands were 
powerfully impressed for life. The Doctor seemed 
to have made a new start in a defined evangelical 
plan of saving the world. Indeed, to save was his 
great watchword, to save sinners, but most of all 
to save men from becoming sinners. One of his 
famous themes — and thousands remember his 
burning words — was " The Three Greatest Things 
to Do — Save a Man, Save a Woman, Save a 
Child." There was a certain anxiety in my mind 



408 THE LAST MILESTONE 



about Dr. Talmage in this sixty-eighth year of 
his life, and I used to tell him that he had reached 
the top of all religious obligations as he himself 
felt them, that there was nothing greater for him 
to do, and that he might now move with softer 
measure to the inspired impulses of his life. But 
he never delayed, he never tarried, he never 
waited. He marched eagerly ahead, as if the 
milestones of his life stretched many years 
beyond. 

Our social life in Washington was subservient 
to Dr. Talmage's reign of preaching. We never 
accepted invitations without the privilege of 
qualifying our acceptance, making them subject 
to the Doctor's religious duties. The privilege 
was gracefully acknowledged by all our friends. 
We were away from Washington, too, a great 
deal. In the spring of this year, 1901, the Doctor 
made a lecturing tour through the South, that was 
full of oratorical triumphs for him, but no less 
marked by delightful social incidents. There was 
a series of dinners and receptions in his honour 
that I shall never forget, in those beautiful homes 
of Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee. Because 
of his Gospel pilgrimage of many years in these 
places, Dr. Talmage had grown to be a household 
god among them. 

When winter had shed his garland of snow over 
nature, or when we were knee deep in summer's 
verdure and flowers, East Hampton was the 
Doctor's headquarters. From there we made 
our summer trips. It was after a short season at 
East Hampton in the summer of 1901, that the 
Doctor went to Ocean Grove, where he delivered 
a Fourth of July oration, the enormous auditorium 
being crowded to its utmost capacity. A few 
days later we went to Buffalo, where, in a large 
tent standing in the Exposition ground, Dr. 



McKINLEY'S ASSASSINATION 409 



Talmage lectured, his powerful voice triumphing 
over the fireworks that, from a place near by, 
went booming up through the heavens. After a 
series of Chautauqua lectures through Michigan 
and Wisconsin, the Doctor finished his course at 
Lake Port, Maryland, near picturesque Deer 
Park. These are merely casual recollections, too 
brief to serve otherwise than as evidence of Dr. 
Talmage' s tremendous industry and energy. 

In September, 1901, came the assassination of 
President McKinley. Dr. Talmage had an en- 
gagement to preach at Ocean Grove the day 
following the disaster. On our arrival at the 
West End Hotel, Long Branch, the Doctor 
went in to register while we remained in the 
carriage at the door. Suddenly he came out, and 
I could see that he was very much agitated. He 
had just received the news of the tragedy. 

" I cannot preach to-morrow," he said. " This 
is too horrible. McKinley has been shot. What 
shall I do ? " And he stood there utterly 
stunned ; unable to think. " Well, we will stop 
at the hotel to-night, at any rate," I said, " let 
us go in." 

Later the Doctor tried to explain to those in 
charge at Ocean Grove that he could not preach, 
but they prevailed upon him to deliver the sermon 
he had with him, which he did, prefacing it with 
appropriate remarks about the national disaster 
of the hour. 

The following telegram was immediately sent 
to the Chief of the Nation, cut off so ruthlessly in 
his career of honour and usefulness : — 

" Long Branch, September 6th. 

"President McKinley, Buffalo, N.Y. 

"The Nation is in prayer for your recovery. 
You will be nearer and dearer to the people than 



410 THE LAST MILESTONE 



ever before after you have passed this crisis. 
Mrs. Talmage joins me in sympathy. 

" T. DeWitt Talmage." 

After the death of the President the Doctor 
preached his sermon 44 Our Dead President " 
for the first time in the little church at East 
Hampton, where it had been written in his study. 
In October the Doctor was called upon to preach 
at the obsequies of the Rev. Dr. Sunderland, 
for many years pastor of the First Presbyterian 
Church in Washington. What a long season of 
obsequies Dr. Talmage solemnised ! And yet, 
with what supreme optimism he defied the unseen 
arrow in his own life that came to pierce him with 
such suddenness in April, 1902. 

The Doctor had been a good traveller, and he 
was fond of travelling ; but, toward the end of 
his life, there were moments when he felt its 
fatiguing influences. He never complained or 
appeared apprehensive, but I remember the first 
time he showed any weariness of spirit. I almost 
recall his words : "I have written so much about 
everything, that now it becomes difficult for me 
to write. I am tired." It frightened me to hear 
him say this, he was so wonderful in endurance 
and strength ; and I could not shake off the effect 
that this first sign of his declining years made 
upon me. He was then sixty-nine years old, and 
the last of the twelve children, save his sister. 

The last sermon he ever wrote was preached 
in February, 1902. The text of this was from 
Psalms xxxiii. 2 : 44 Sing unto Him with the 
Psaltery, and an instrument of ten strings." This 
was David's harp of gratitude and praise. After 
some introductory paragraphs on the harp, its 
age, the varieties of this 44 most consecrated of 
all instruments," its 44 tenderness," its place in 



DR. TALMAGE'S LAST SERMON 411 



" the richest symbolism of the Holy Scriptures," 
he writes : " David's harp had ten strings, and, 
when his great soul was afire with the theme, his 
sympathetic voice, accompanied by exquisite 
vibrations of the chords, must have been over- 
powering. . . . The simple fact is that the most 
of us, if we praise the Lord at all, play upon one 
string or two strings, or three strings, when we 
ought to take a harp fully chorded, and with glad 
fingers sweep all the strings. Instead of being 
grateful for here and there a blessing we happen 
to think of, we ought to rehearse all our blessings, 
and obey the injunction of my text to sing unto 
Him with an instrument of ten strings." " Have 
you ever thanked God for delightsome food ? " 
he asks; and for sight for " the eye, the window 
of our immortal nature, the gate through which 
all colours march, the picture gallery of the soul ? " 
He enumerates other blessings — hearing, sleep, 
the gift of reason, the beauties of nature, friends. 
" I now come," he continues, " to the tenth and 
last. I mention it last that it may be more 
memorable — heavenly anticipation. By the grace 
of God we are going to move into a place so 
much better than this, that on arriving we will 
wonder that we were for so many years so loath 
to make the transfer. After we have seen Christ 
face to face, and rejoiced over our departed 
kindred, there are some mighty spirits we will 
want to meet soon after we pass through the 
gates." As his graphic pen depicts the scene — 
the meeting with David and the great ones of 
Scripture, " the heroes and heroines who gave 
their lives for the truth, the Gospel pro- 
claimers, the great Christian poets, all the 
departed Christian men and women of whatever 
age or nation " — he seems to have already a fore- 
taste of the wonderful vision so soon to open to 



412 THE LAST MILESTONE 



his eyes. 44 Now," he concludes, "take down your 
harp of ten strings and sweep all the chords. 
Let us make less complaint and offer more thanks ; 
render less dirge and more cantata. Take paper 
and pen and write in long columns your blessings. 
. . . Set your misfortunes to music, as David 
opened his dark sayings on a harp. . . . Blessing, 
and honour and glory and power be unto Him 
that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb 
for ever. Amen !" 

I recall that when Dr. Talmage first read this 
sermon to me in his study, he said : 44 That is the 
best I can do ; I shall never write a better ser- 
mon." I have been told that when a man says 
he has reached the topmost effort of his abilities, 
it presages his end, and the march of events 
seemed to verify the axiom. 

Dr. Talmage's last journey came about through 
the invitation of the Mexican minister in 
Washington. The latter met Dr. Talmage 
at dinner, and on hearing that he had never 
preached in Mexico he urged him to go there. 
When the Doctor's plans had all been made, 
some friends tried to dissuade him from going, 
secretly fearing, perhaps, the tax it would be 
on his strength. Yet there was no evidence at 
this time to support their fears, and the Doctor 
himself would have been the last to listen to any 
warning. He was very busy during the few days 
that preceded our departure from Washington 
in attending the meetings of the Committee of 
distinguished clergymen who were in session to 
revise the creed of the Presbyterian Church. 

The day before we left for Mexico, the Doctor 
told me he desired to entertain these gentlemen, 
as had been his custom during all important 
gatherings of representative churchmen who 
visited Washington. He was in great spirits. His 



LAST HOSPITALITY 413 



ideas of a social affair were definite and generous, 
as we discovered that day, much to our amuse- 
ment. 

" Eleanor," he said, " I feel as though I would 
like to have these gentlemen to luncheon at my 
house to-morrow. Can you arrange it ? I could 
not possibly leave Washington without show- 
ing them some special courtesy. Now, I want 
a real meal, something to sit down to. None 
of your floating oysters, or little daubs of meat in 
pastry, but real food, whole turkeys, four or five 
of them — a substantial meal." The Doctor's 
respect for chicken patties, creamed oysters, and 
the usual buffet reception luncheon, was clearly 
not very great. 

The luncheon was given at 1 .30 on the day 
appointed ; the distinguished guests all came, 
two by two, into our house. A few weeks later, 
they came again in a body, two by two, into the 
house of mourning. 

Besides the visiting clergy, Dr. Talmage had 
also invited for this luncheon other representative 
men of Washington. It was the last social 
gathering which the Doctor ever attended in his 
own home, and perhaps for that reason becomes 
a significant event in my memory. After the rest 
had departed, Dr. Henry Van Dyke remained for 
an hour or two to talk with my husband in his 
study. Dr. Talmage so often referred to the great 
pleasure this long interview had given him, that 
I am sure it was one of the supreme enjoyments 
of his last spiritual milestone. 

The night before we left Washington an inci- 
dent occurred that directly concerns these pages. 
We had gone down into the basement of the 
house to look for some papers the Doctor kept 
there in the safe, and in taking them out he picked 
up the manuscript of his autobiography. As we 



414 THE LAST MILESTONE 



went upstairs I said to the Doctor, 64 What a 
pity that you have not completed it entirely." 

The Doctor replied, " All the obscure part of 
my life is written here, and a great part of the 
rest of it. When I return from Mexico I will 
finish it. If anything should happen, however, it 
can be completed from scrapbooks and other data." 

We went into his study and the Doctor had just 
begun to read it to me when we were interrupted 
by a call from Senator Hanna. Dr. Talmage 
particularly admired Senator Hanna, and, as they 
were great friends, the autobiography was for- 
gotten for the rest of the evening. Knowing that 
the Doctor was about to leave Washington the 
Senator had come to wish him goodby, and to 
urge him to visit his brother at Thomasville, 
Georgia, where we were to stop on our way to 
Mexico. I remember Senator Hanna said to the 
Doctor, " You will find the place very pretty ; we 
own a good deal of property there, so much so 
that it could easily be called Hannaville." The 
next morning we started for the City of Mexico, 
going direct to Charleston, where the Doctor 
preached. He was entertained a good deal there, 
and we witnessed the opening of the Charleston 
Exposition. 

From Charleston we went to Thomasville, 
Georgia, where we spent a week, during which time 
the Doctor preached and lectured twice at near- 
by places. It was here that we met the first 
accident of our journey. Just as we were steaming 
into Thomasville we ran into a train ahead, and 
there was some loss of life and great damage. 
Fortunately we were in the last Pullman car of 
the train. I have always believed that the shock 
of this accident was the beginning of the end for 
Dr. Talmage. He showed no fear, and he gave 
every assistance possible to others ; but, in the 



A MEXICAN SAND-STORM 415 



tension of the moment, in his own self-restraint 
for the sake of others, I think that he over- 
taxed his strength more than he realised. I 
never wanted to see a train again, and begged the 
Doctor to let us remain in Thomasville the 
rest of our lives. The next morning, however, Dr. 
Talmage started out on a preaching engagement 
in the neighbourhood by train, but we remained 
behind. Our stay in Thomasville was made very 
enjoyable by the relatives of Senator Hanna, 
whose beautiful estates were a series of landscape 
pictures I shall always remember. Although the 
Doctor was obliged to be away on lecturing en- 
gagements three times during the week he enjoyed 
the drives about Thomasville with us while he was 
there. Our destination after leaving Thomas- 
ville was New Orleans, where Dr. Talmage was 
received as if he had been a national character. 
He was welcomed by a distinguished deputation 
with the utmost cordiality. The Christian Herald 
said of this occasion : " When he went on the 
following Sunday to the First Presbyterian Church 
he found a great multitude assembled, the large 
building densely packed within and a much vaster 
gathering out of doors unable to obtain admit- 
tance. Thousands went away disappointed. He 
spoke with even more than usual force and 
conviction." Never were we more royally enter- 
tained or feted than we were here. From New 
Orleans we went to San Antonio, where we stopped 
off for two or three days' sight-seeing. The 
Doctor was urged to preach and lecture while he 
was there ; but he excused himself on the ground 
of a previous engagement, promising, however, 
to lecture in San Antonio on his return trip to 
Washington. 

On our way from San Antonio to the City of 
Mexico our train ran into one of the sand-storms, 



416 THE LAST MILESTONE 



for which the Mexican country is famous at 
certain times of the year ; and we were at a stand- 
still on a side track at a small station for twenty- 
four hours. The food was execrable, the wind and 
sand were choking, and the whole experience 
trying in the extreme. We were warned against 
thieves of the neighbourhood, and, during the 
night we were locked in the cars to ensure the 
safety of our belongings. In spite of these pre- 
cautions a shawl which the Doctor valued, 
because it had been presented to him by the 
citizens of Melbourne, Australia, was stolen 
during the night through an open window. They 
were not bashful those thieves of the sand- 
storm. From a private car attached to the rear of 
our train they stole a refrigerator bodily off the 
platform. 

The Doctor had long been suffering from his 
throat, and all these annoyances had the effect of 
increasing the painful symptoms to such a degree 
that when we finally got into the city of Mexico 
on Saturday, March 1st, it was necessary to call a 
physician. Dr. Talmage had brought with him a 
number of letters of introduction from Washington 
to people in the City of Mexico, but the Mexican 
minister had written ahead of us, and on the day 
we arrived people left their cards and extended 
invitations that promised to keep us socially busy 
every day of our week's visit. 

The Doctor was ailing a little, I thought, but 
not seriously. He had a slight cold. Although 
he had planned to preach only in the Presbyterian 
Church a week from our arrival, the people of the 
other Protestant denominations urged him with 
such importunity that he agreed to preach for 
them on the first Sunday, the day after our arrival. 
This was an unexpected strain on Dr. Talmage 
after a very trying journey ; but he never could 



THE LAST ILLNESS 417 



refuse to preach, no matter how great his fatigue. 
On the following Tuesday a luncheon was given 
Dr. Talmage by General Porfirio Diaz, the Presi- 
dent of the Mexican Republic, at his palace in 
Chapultepec. The Doctor enjoyed a long audience 
with the aged statesman, during which the mutual 
interests and prospects of the two countries were 
freely discussed, President Diaz manifesting him- 
self, as always, a friend and admirer of our 
government and people. During the afternoon a 
cold wind had come up, and the drive home 
increased the Doctor's indisposition, so that he 
was obliged to confine himself to his room. Still 
he was up and about, and we felt no alarm what- 
ever. On Thursday night, he complained of a 
pain at the base of his brain, and at about four in 
the morning I was awakened by him : — 

" Eleanor," he said, " I seem to be very ill ; I 
believe I am dying." The shock was very great, 
it was such a rare thing for him to be ill. We 
sent for the best American physician in the city 
of Mexico, Dr. Shields, who diagnosed the 
Doctor's case as grippe. He at once allayed my 
fears, assuring me that it would not be serious. 

Dr. Talmage had promised to lecture on Friday, 
March 7th, and we had some trouble to prevent 
him from keeping this engagement. Dr. Shields 
insisted that Dr. Talmage should not leave his 
room, declaring that the exertion would be too 
much for him. Not until Dr. Shields had assured 
Dr. Talmage that the people could be notified by 
special handbills and the newspapers would he 
consent to break the engagement. 

On Friday night Dr. Talmage grew worse ; and 
finally he asked to be taken home, personally 
making arrangements with Dr. Shields to travel 
with us as far as the Mexican border, as my know- 
ledge of Spanish was very limited. Eventually 

2 E 



THE LAST MILESTONE 



it became necessary for Dr. Shields to go all the 
way with us. In the great sorrow that the 
people of Mexico felt over the sudden illness of 
Dr. Talmage, their regret at his cancelled engage- 
ments was swallowed up, and there was one great 
wave of sympathy which touched us not a little. 

The journey to Washington was a painful one. 
Dr. Talmage kept growing worse. All day long he 
lay on the couch before me in our drawing-room 
on the train, saying nothing — under the constant 
care of the physician. Telegrams and letters 
followed the patient all the way from Mexico to 
the Capital city. At every station silent, awe- 
stricken crowds were gathered to question of the 
state of the beloved sufferer. In New Orleans we 
had to stay over a day, so as to secure accommo- 
dation on the train to Washington. While there 
many messages of condolence were left at the 
hotel, a party of ladies calling especially to thank 
me for the " great care I was taking of their 
Dr. Talmage." 

On our route to the national city, I remember 
the Doctor drew me down beside him to speak to 
me. He was then extremely weak and his voice 
was very low : " Eleanor, I believe this is death," 
he said. 

The long journey, in which years seemed com- 
pressed into days, at last came to a close. The 
train pulled up in Washington, and our own 
physician, Dr. Magruder, met us at the station. 
Dr. Talmage was borne into his home in a chair, 
and upstairs into his bedroom, where already the 
angel of death had entered to welcome and guard 
him, though, alas ! we knew it not, and still 
hoped against hope. Occasional rallies took place ; 
but evidences of cerebral inflammation appeared, 
and the patient sank into a state of unconscious- 
ness, which was only a prelude to death. Bulletins 



HIS DEATH 



419 



were given to the public daily by the attending 
physicians ; and if aught could have assuaged the 
anguish of such moments it would have been the 
universal interest and sympathy shown from all 
parts of the world. 

Readers will pardon me if I reproduce from The 
Christian Herald a record of the last scene. It is 
hard 44 to take down the folded shadows of our 
bereavement " and hold it even to the gaze of 
friends. 

44 After a painful illness, lasting several weeks, 
America's best-beloved preacher, the Reverend 
Thomas DeWitt Talmage, passed from earth to 
the life above, on April 12th, 1902. Ever since his 
return from Mexico, where he was prostrated by 
a sudden attack which rapidly assumed the form 
of cerebral congestion, he had lain in the sick 
chamber of his Washington home, surrounded by 
his family and cared for by the most skilful 
physicians. Each day brought its alternate hopes 
and fears. Much of the time was passed in un- 
consciousness ; but there were intervals when, 
even amid his sufferings, he could speak to and 
recognise those around him. No murmur or com- 
plaint came from his lips ; he bore his suffering 
bravely, sustained by a Higher Power. The 
message had come which sooner or later comes to 
all, and the aged servant of God was ready to go ; 
he had been ready all his life. 

44 Occasional rallies took place, raising hopes 
which were quickly abandoned. From April 5th 
to April 12th these rallies occurred at frequent 
intervals, always followed by a condition of 
increased depression, more or less augmented fever 
and partial unconsciousness. On Saturday, April 
12th, a great change became apparent. For many 
hours the patient had been unconscious. As the 
day wore on, it became evident that he could not 



420 THE LAST MILESTONE 



live through another night. All of Dr. Talmage's 
family — his wife, his son, the Rev. Frank DeWitt 
Talmage, of Chicago ; Mrs. Warren G. Smith and 
Mrs. Daniel Mangam, of Brooklyn ; Mrs. Allen 
E. Donnan, of Richmond ; and Mrs. Clarence 
Wycoff and Miss Talmage, were gathered in the 
chamber of death. Dr. G. L. Magruder, the 
principal physician, was also in attendance at the 
last. At 9.25 o'clock p.m., the soul took flight 
from the inanimate clay, and the spirit of the 
world's greatest preacher was released." 

The Rev. T. Chalmers Easton, an old and 
valued friend of Dr. Talmage, was in frequent 
attendance upon him, and never ceased his 
ministrations until the eyes of the beloved one 
were closed in death. A brief excerpt from his 
address at the Memorial Service of the Rev. T. 
DeWitt Talmage held at the Eastern Presby- 
terian Church, Washington, may not be unaccep- 
table to the reader : 

44 A truly great man or eloquent orator does 
not die — 

' And is he dead whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? 
To live in hearts we leave behind 
Is not to die.' 

44 What shall we say of the prince in Israel who 
has left us ? Can we compress the ocean into a 
dewdrop ? No more is it possible to condense into 
one brief hour what is due to the memory of our 
beloved and illustrious friend. His moral courage 
was only equalled by his giant frame and physical 
strength. He was made of the very stuff that 
martyrs are made of: one of the most remarkable 
individualities of our time. A man of no negative 
qualities, aggressive and positive. 

44 His whole soul was full of convictions of right 



A TRIBUTE 



421 



and duty. A firm friend, a man of ready recog- 
nition, a human magnet in his focalising power. 
He was true in every deed, and never needed a 
veil to be drawn. ... If, as his personal friend 
for more than twenty years, I should attempt to 
open up the treasures of his real greatness, where 
shall we find more of those sterling virtues that 
poets have sung, artists portrayed, and historians 
commended? He was truly a great man — a man 
of God ! 

64 The last years of his life were full of happiness 
in the living companionship of her who so sadly 
mourns his departure. He frequently spoke to me 
of the great inspiration brought into these years 
by her ceaseless devotion to all his plans and 
work, making what was burdensome in his accu- 
mulating literary duties a pleasure . . . The last 
fond look of recognition was given to his beloved 
wife, and the last word that fell from his lips, 
when far down in the valley, was the sweetest 
music to his ears — 4 Eleanor.' 

" It was said once by an eminent writer that 
when Abraham Lincoln, the forest-born liberator, 
entered Heaven, he threw down at God's throne 
three million yokes as the trophies of his great act 
of emancipation ; as great as that was, I think it 
was small, indeed, compared with the tens of thou- 
sands of souls Talmage redeemed from the yokes 
of sin and shame by the glorious Gospel preached 
with such fervour and power of the Holy Ghost. 
What a mighty army stood ready to greet him at 
the gates of the heavenly city as the warrior 
passed in to be crowned by his Sovereign and 
King ! " 

The funeral services were held at the Church of 
the Covenant, Washington, on April 15th. The 
ceremony began at 5 p.m., with the " Dead 
March from Saul," and lasted considerably over an 



422 THE LAST MILESTONE 



hour. The coffin rested immediately in front of 
the pulpit, and over it was a massive bed of 
violets. On a silver plate was the inscription : 

THOMAS DEWITT TALMAGE, 
January 7th, 1832 — April 12th, 1902 

The floral offerings were numerous, including a 
wreath of white roses and lilies of the valley sent 
by President and Mrs. Roosevelt. The officiating 
clergymen were the Rev. Dr. T. S. Hamlin, pastor 
of the Church ; the Rev. Dr. T. Chalmers Easton, 
of Washington ; and the Rev. Drs. S. J. Nicols, 
and James Demarest, of Brooklyn. A male 
quartette sang: "Lead, Kindly Light," a favourite 
hymn of Dr. Talmage ; " Beyond the Smiling and 
the Weeping " ; and 6 4 It is well with my Soul. 5 ' 
The addresses of the Reverend Doctors were 
eulogistic of the dead preacher, of whom they had 
been intimate friends for more than a quarter of a 
century. The body lay in state four hours, during 
which thousands passed in review around it. 

At midnight the remains of Dr. Talmage were 
conveyed by private train to Brooklyn, where the 
burial took place in Greenwood Cemetery. The 
funeral cortege arrived about ten o'clock in the 
morning ; hundreds were already in the cemetery, 
waiting to behold the last rites paid to one they 
revered and loved. The Episcopal burial service 
was read by the Rev. Dr. Howard Suydam, an old 
friend and classmate of Dr. Talmage, who made a 
brief address, and concluded the simple ceremonies 
by the recital of the Lord's Prayer. 

Tributes were paid to the illustrious dead all 
over the civilised world, and in many languages ; 
while thousands of letters of condolence and tele- 
grams assured the family in those days of affliction 
that human hearts were throbbing with ours and 
fain would comfort us. One wrote feelingly : 



THE "CELESTIAL DREAM" 423 



" When Dr. Talmage described the Heavenly 
Jerusalem, he seemed to feel all the ecstatic 
fervour of a Bernard of Cluny, writing : 

' For thee, 0 dear, dear Country ! 

Mine eyes their vigils keep ; 
For very love beholding 

Thy holy name, they weep.' " 

And it seems to me that I cannot better close 
this altogether unworthy sketch of Dr. Talmage 
than by offering the reader as a parting remem- 
brance, in its simple beauty, his " Celestial 
Dream " : 

" One night, lying on my lounge when very 
tired, my children all around me in full romp and 
hilarity and laughter, half awake and half asleep, 
I dreamed this dream : I was in a far country. It 
was not in Persia, although more than oriental 
luxuries crowned the cities. It was not the tropics, 
although more than tropical fruitfulness filled the 
gardens. It was not Italy, although more than 
Italian softness filled the air. And I wandered 
around looking for thorns and nettles, but I found 
that none of them grew there ; and I saw the sun 
rise and watched to see it set, but it set not. 
And I saw people in holiday attire, and I said, 
6 When will they put off all this, and put on work- 
man's garb, and again delve in the mine or swelter 
at the forge ? ' But they never put off the holiday 
attire. 

" And I wandered in the suburbs of the city to 
find the place where the dead sleep, and I looked 
all along the line of the beautiful hills, the place 
where the dead might most blissfully sleep, and 
I saw towers and castles, but not a mausoleum or 
a monument or a white slab was to be seen. And 
I went into the chapel of the great town, and I 
said : ' Where do the poor worship, and where are 



424 THE LAST MILESTONE 



the benches on which they sit ? ' And the answer 
was made me, 4 We have no poor in this country.' 

" And then I wandered out to find the hovels 
of the destitute, and I found mansions of amber 
and ivory and gold ; but not a tear could I see, 
not a sigh could I hear ; and I was bewildered, 
and I sat down under the branches of a great tree, 
and I said, ' Where am I, and whence comes all 
this scene ? ' And then out from among the leaves 
and up the flowery paths and across the bright 
streams, there came a beautiful group thronging 
all about me, and as I saw them come I thought I 
knew their step, and as they shouted I thought I 
knew their voices, but they were so gloriously 
arrayed in apparel such as I had never before 
witnessed, that I bowed as stranger to stranger. 
But when again they clapped their hands and 
shouted 4 Welcome ! Welcome ! ' the mystery all 
vanished, and I found that time had gone and 
eternity had come, and we were all together again 
in our new home in Heaven. 

" And I looked around, and I said, 4 Are we all 
here ? ' And the voices of many generations 
responded, 4 All here ! ' And while tears of glad- 
ness were raining down our cheeks, and the 
branches of the Lebanon cedars were clapping 
their hands, and the towers of the great city were 
chiming their welcome, we all together began to 
leap and shout and sing, 4 Home, home, home, 
home ! ' " 



INDEX 



Abbott, Emma, her bequest to 
the Brooklyn Tabernacle, 244 ; 
character, 244. 

Aberdeen, Lord and Lady, 299. 

Adams, Edwin, 71. 

Adams, John, his administration, 
8. 

Adler, Dr., 118. 

Agnus, General Felix, 223. 

Alba, 368. 

Albany, intemperance, 45 ; bri- 
bery., 46 5 lobbyists driven out, 
132. 

Alice, Princess, her death, 90. 
Allen, Barbara, case of, 82. 
" America," s.s., length of voyage, 
135- 

Ames, Coates, 74. 
Amoy, 19. 

Anarchists, execution of, 198. 

Anglo-American Commission, 
members of the, 325. 

Annapolis, 326. 

Arkell, W. J., 224. 

Arthur, Chester A., elected Presi- 
dent, 115; relinquishes office, 
143 ; at Lexington, 188, 278 ; 
his death, 188. 

Astor, Mrs. William, 55 ; her 
death, 200 ; will, 200. 

Atlantic, passage across, reduction, 
99. 

Austen, Colonel, 221, 241. 
Avery, Miss Mary, her marriage, 
25 note. 

Baden-baden, 388. 

Bakewell, 351. 

Ball club, a ministerial, 49. 

Banks, Rev. Dr. Louis Albert, 281. 

Barnes, Rev. Alfred, 48. 

Barnes, General Alfred C, 241. 



Barnes, Alfred S., 207. 
Bartholdi statue, 149, 150. 
Baskenridge, 4. 

Bayne, John, heroism of, 134. 
Beaconsfield, Lord, 104 ; amount 

given for his "Endymion," 107, 

109. 

Beck, Senator, 276. 

Bedloe's Island, 149. 

Beecher, Rev. Henry Ward, his 
views on theology, 119; cele- 
bration of his fortieth year of 
pastoral service, 186 ; character 
of his discourses, 187. 

Belfast, 391. 

Belgium, King Leopold of, in 
Paris, 388. 

Belleville, Reformed Church at, 18. 

Bellows, Rev. Dr., 116. 

Benton, Thomas H., 104. 

Berg, Rev. Dr., 48. 

Bergh, Professor Henry,his defence 
of animals, 100 ; opposition to 
vivisection, 100 ; his death, 208. 

Berlin, 374. 

Bethune, George W., 186. 
Betting, practice of, in America, 
147. 

Bible, Higher Criticism, 253. 
Bill, Buffalo, 261. 
Bird, Mrs., 244. 
Birds, the slaughter of, 184. 
Birmingham, 267. 
Birmingham, Alabama, cyclone at, 
34°. 

Blackburn, Governor, 275 ; his 
reception of Dr. Talmage, 276 ; 
speech, 278. 

Blackburn, Mrs., 278. 

Blaine, James G., candidate for 
the Presidency, 138 ; reports 
against, 138 5 his vigour and 



425 



426 



INDEX 



exhaustion, 139 ; reception at 
the White House, 144 ; cartoons 
of, 175. 

Boardman, Rev. Dr., 48. 

Bobolinks, number of, killed, 184. 

Bobrinsky, Count, 263, 283. 

Boer War, 347. 

Bond, Mr., 72. 

Bonner & Co., failure of, 76. 
Bonynge, Mrs., 261. 
Boody, Hon. David A., 241, 281. 
Boston, conflagration of 1872, 231 ; 

Union Church of 49. 
Bound Brook, 9. 

Bowery Mission, anniversary, 395. 

Bowles, Samuel, 131. 

Brainerd, Dr., 38. 

Branch, F. H., 269. 

Brewer, Justice, 337. 

Brewers' Association, demand, 162. 

Bribery, practice of, 165-167. 

Briggs, Dr., 245. 

Brighton Beach, races at, 147. 

Broadhead, Rev. Dr., 91. 

Brooklyn, corrupt condition, 64, 
69, 75 ; custom of carrying fire- 
arms, 75; standard of commerce, 
75 ; Bill for a new city charter, 
78 ; number crossing the ferries, 
78 ; Lafayette Avenue railroad 
scheme, 79, 88 ; police force, 82 ; 
management of public taxes, 82 ; 
spread of communism, 83 5 
reign of terror, 87 ; bridge, 99 ; 
cost, 120 5 opened, 122 5 im- 
provement in local administra- 
tion, 99 ; number of pastors, 
120 ; pool rooms opened, 147 ; 
railway strike, 167 5 establish- 
ment of a labour exchange, 167 ; 
new jail, 175 ; pulpit builders, 
186 ; committee of investiga- 
tion, 193 ; ovation on the 
return of Dr. Talmage, 241. 

Brooklyn, the central Church of, 
49) 5°> 53 5 alterations, 57. 

Brooklyn Tabernacle, the first, 55 ; 
dedication, 3, 61, 62, 249 5 en- 
larged, 62 ; rededication, 62 ; 
amount of collections, 62, 63 ; 



burnt down, 65, 229, 231, 284- 
286 ; size of the new, 67, 252 ; 
law-suit, 94 ; prosperity, 162 ; 
appeal for funds to rebuild, 232 5 
trustees, 233 ; subscribers, 234 ; 
consecration of the ground, 234 ; 
cost, 242 5 position, 242 ; rent 
of pews, 243 ; corner-stone laid, 
245 ; contents, 245 ; opened, 
249 ; financial difficulties, 268 ; 
celebration festival of the 25th 
anniversary of Dr. Talmage's 
pastorate, 280-283 ; letter from 
the Trustees, 287. 

Brooks, Erastus, 131. 

Brooks, Phillips, 261, 272. 

Brower, Commissioner George V., 
241. 

Brown, Henry Eyre, 281. 
Brown, Dr. John, 60. 
Brown, Dr., amount of his salary, 
247. 

Brown, Senator, of Georgia, no. 
Bryan, William Jennings, 406; his 

wonderful voice, 406. 
Bryant, William Cullen, his death, 

85 ; incident of, 85 5 " Thana- 

topsis," 86 ; his noble character, 

86. 

Buchanan, James, President, his 
reply cablegram to Queen Vic- 
toria, 250. 

Buckley, Dr., 120. 

Buffalo, 408. 

Bunker Hill, 156. 

Burnside, Senator, 115. 

Burr, Aaron, his infamy, 8. 

Burrows, Senator, 337. 

Bush, Dr., his advice to students, 
208. 

Bushnell, Giles F., 234. 

Butler, Ben F., nominated Gover- 
nor of Massachusetts, 88 ; can- 
didate for the Presidency, 121. 

Butter, Rev. T. G., 62. 

Byrnes, Inspector, at the Press 
Club, 223. 

Cable service, a cheaper, 135. 

Cablegram, the first, 250. 

Campbell, Superintendent, 81. 



INDEX 



427 



Canada, 326, 405. 
Canton, Ohio, 306. 
Carey, Senator, 256 ; at Cheyenne, 
104. 

Carleton, Will, 317. 

Carlisle, Mr., 128. 

Carlyle, Thomas, his house, 97 ; 
portrait, 98 ; library, 98 ; death- 
bed, no; his opinion of 
Americans, 184. 

Carnegie, Andrew, his gift of a 
library to Washington, 335. 

Carpenter, Samuel, 223. 

Carroll, Mr., 102. 

Carson, Rev. Dr. John F., 281. 

Carson, Joseph E., 234. 

Cartwright, Sir Richard, 325. 

Case, James S., 224. 

Catlin, General, 157. 

" Central-America," sinks, 134. 

Chambers, Rev. Dr., 3. 

Chapin, Mayor, 241. 

Charleston, 414 ; earthquake at, 
178. 

Chase, Salmon P., his death, 188. 
Chatsworth, 353-355. 
Chattanooga, 339. 
Chelsea, 97. 

Cheyenne, 104 ; fashions in, 106. 

Chicago, 99 ; Calvary Church of, 
49 ; spread of communism, 83 ; 
railway strike, 167 ; execution 
of anarchists, 198; conflagration 
of 1871, 231. 

Chili, war with Peru, 117. 

Chinese, legislative effort to ex- 
clude, 90 ; exclusion of, 173 ; 
dress, 173 ; immigration Bill, 304. 

Chloroform, first use of, 207, 356. 

Choate, Mr., 360. 

Cholera, experiments on, 162. 

Christian Herald, extract from, on 
the illness and death of Dr. 
Talmage, 419. 

Christiania, 365. 

Chrysanthemum, rage for the, 158. 
Church fairs,pastoralletter against, 

P\ 

Cincinnati, 276 ; differences in 
clock time, 189. 



" City of Paris," 235. 

" City of Rome," 133. 

Civil War, 38 ; result, 42, 74. 

Clarion, Mdme, 72. 

Clay, Henry, 104 ; his death, 188. 

Clement, Judge, 24I. 

Cleveland, Grover, candidate, 117; 
elected Governor of New York, 
121 ; candidate for the Presi- 
dency, 138 ; elected, 140 5 his 
mother's Bible, 144 ; reception 
of Mr. Blaine, 144 ; cartoons, 
1755 marriage, 176; his exer- 
cise of the right of veto, 180; 
tour, 198 ; message to Congress, 
200 ; his intercourse with Dr. 
Talmage, 301-306 ; attack of 
rheumatism, 303 ; objections to 
the Chinese Immigration Bill, 
304 ; attacks against, 306. 

Cleveland, Mrs., 297 ; her charac- 
teristics, 300, 301. 

Cleveland, Miss Rose, 300. 

Clinton, DeWitt, 102. 

Coates, A. E., 234. 

Cockerill, Col. John A., at the 
Press Club, 223. 

Colfax, Schuyler, 141. 

Collier, Judge, 363. 

Collier, Miss Rebekah, 346 ; her 
diary, 350. 

Collins, Mr. and Mrs. John, 261. 

Collyer, Dr. Robert, amount of his 
salary, 247. 

Colorado springs, 320. 

Colquitt, Senator, 256. 

Commons, House of, dynamite 
explosion, 142. 

Communism, theory of, 83. 

Coney Island, 147, 179. 

Conkling, Senator Roscoe, his op- 
position to the Silver Bill, 80 5 
characteristics, 209 ; death, 209. 

Constantinople, earthquake, 191. 

Converse, Charles Cravat, 50. 

Coombs, Mr., 257. 

Cooper, Fenimore, 85. 

Cooper, Peter, 55, 57, 70. 

Copenhagen, 363 

Corbit, Rev. William P., 33-35. 



428 



INDEX 



Cork, 391. 

Coronado Beach, 320, 322. 
Corrigan, Archbishop, 191. 
Courtney, Judge, 241. 
Cox, Rev. Dr. Samuel H., 186. 
Cox, Mr., 128 ; appointed minister 

to Turkey, 146 ; his nicknames, 

146. 

Cradle, the family, 2. 
Creeds, revision of the, 244. 
Crosby, Dr., his ecclesiastical trial, 
10 1. 

Croy, Peter, 17. 

Crystal Palace, banquet given to 

Dr. Talmage at, 267. 
Cuba, victory in, 320. 
Culver, John Y., 241. 
Curry, Daniel, 196. 

Dana, Richard Henry, his death, 

93 5 literary works, 94. 
Daniel, Senator, 256. 
Darling, Charles S., 233, 269. 
Davenport, E. L., 71, 
Davis, Jefferson, 339. 
Davis, Sir Louis, 325. 
Deer Park, 409. 

Demarest, Rev. Dr. James, at the 
funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422. 

Democratic party, 46. 

Denmark, the national flower 
" Golden Rain," 363. 

Denmark, Crown Prince and Prin- 
cess of, receive Dr. Talmage, 364. 

Denver, 99, 320 • its age, 105 ; 
picture galleries, 106. 

Depau, Mr., his bequest to religion, 
194. 

Depew, Chauncey M., 223. 

Derbyshire, 351. 

Dewey, Admiral, 348. 

DeWitt, Dr., 187. 

DeWitt, Gasherie, 31. 

Diaz, Gen. Porfirio, President of 
Mexico, 417 ; his interview with 
Dr. Talmage, 417. 

Dickens, Charles, result of in- 
somnia, 62. 

Dickey, Dr., 374. 

Dilke, Sir Charles, 179. 



Divorce, views on, 237. 

Dix, John A., 102. 

Dix, Dr. Morgan, amount of his 

salary, 247. 
Dixon, Rev. A. C, 281. 
Dodge, William E., 55, 57. 
Donnan, Mrs. Allen E., 420. 
Doty, Ethan Allen, 224. 

Dow Junior's Patent Sermons," 

16. 

Dowling, Rev. Dr. John, 26. 

" Dream, The Celestial," sketch, 

423- 
Due West, 338. 
Duncan, John, 31. 
Duncan, William, 31. 

" Earth Girdled, The," publica- 
tion of, 289. 

Earthquake at Charleston, 178 ; 
Constantinople, 191. 

East Hampton, 57, 274, 338, 408. 

Easton, Rev. T. Chalmers, on the 
death of Dr. Talmage, 420 ; at 
his funeral, 422. 

Edinburgh, 60, 97, 356. 

Edison, Prof. Thomas, 89. 

Education, views on, 152. 

Ellis, Hon. E. J., 81. 

Erskine Theological College, Due 
West, 338. 

Evarts, Hon. William M., 283, 288. 

Ewer, Rev. Dr., 123. 

Fairbanks, Vice-president, 337. 

Fairchild, Benjamin L., 234. 

Falls, Samuel B., 38. 

Far-Rockaway, First Presbyter- 
ian Church at, 229. 

Farwell, Senator, 261. 

Faulkner, Senator, 325. 

Ferguson, James B., 269. 

Ferron, Dr., his experiments with 
cholera, 162. 

Field, Cyrus W., lays the cable, 
249. 

Field, Chief Justice, his death, 336. 
Finney, Dr., his revival meetings, 
4- 

Fish, Rev. Dr., 29. 



INDEX 



429 



Fish, Hamilton, Secretary to 

General Grant, 70. 
Fiske, Steven, 223. 
"Florida," disaster of, 133. 
Flower, Roswell P., 223. 
Folger, Mr., 117. 
Food, adulteration of, 131. 
Foster, John, 53. 
Fox, George L., 71. 
Fox, G. V., 266. 
Frankfort, Kentucky, 275. 
Franklin, Benjamin, 173. 
Frazer, Dr., 120. 
Free trade question, 128. 
Freeman, Mr., 94. 
Frelinghuysen, Dominie, 149. 
Frelinghuysen, Frederick, 149. 
Frelinghuysen, Frederick T., 115, 

144 ; his death, 149. 
Frelinghuysen, Gen. John, 149. 
Frelinghuysen, Senator Theodore, 

149. 

Fulton Ferry, new bridge at, 99. 
Funk, Dr., 1 57. 

Gallagher, Dr., 120. 
Gallows, death by the, 198. 
Gambling Pool Bill, protest against, 
194. 

Gambetta, 122. 

Garcelon, Governor, 102. 

Garfield, President, his election, 
106; attempt on his life, 111, 
112; views on Mormonism, 113; 
reforms, 113; result of his 
death, 113; sermons, 114; 
characteristics, 115. 

Garfield, Mrs., amount subscribed, 
145. 

Gateville, 9. 

Gedney, Judge, 224. 

Geogheghan, the poet, 224. 

George, Henry, 223. 

Gettysburg, battle of, 38. 

Gilbert, Judge, 193. 

Gilmore, Pat, 224. 

Gladstone, Mrs., 240 ; her por- 
trait, 240 ; illness, 357. 

Gladstone, Mrs. Herbert, 357. 

Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., 104, 



150 ; his policy of Home Rule 
for Ireland, 173, 239 ; recep- 
tion of Dr. Talmage, 236 5 
American stories, 237 ; view on 
divorce, 237 ; religion, 238 ; 
library,240; congratulations,284. 
Glasgow, 355.^ 

Goldsmith, Oliver, his struggles as 

an author, 108. 
Gordon, Senator, 256. 
Gorman, Senator, 331. 
Gough, John B., his gift of oratory, 

164; dramatic power, 164. 
Gould, Jay, 172. 

Grace,Mr., Mayor of New York, 121. 
Grain, failure of, in Europe, 103 ; 

blockade in the United States, 

103. 

Grant, General, President, 92, 279 ; 
his pension, 145 ; malady, 145, 
148. 

Grant, Mayor, at the Press Club, 
223. 

Greeley, Horace, 131, 175; his 
sufferings from insomnia, 62. 

Greenport, 50 note. 

Greenwood cemetery, 422. 

Greenwood, Judge, 199. 

Greer, Dr., amount of his salary, 
247. 

Gregg, Rev. Dr., 281. 
Grevy, President, his resignation, 
200. 

Grier, Dr., President of the Ers- 
kine Theological College, Due 
West, 338. 

Grinnell, Moses H., 57. 

Guiteau, assassinates President 
Garfield, 113. 

Haddon Hall, 351-353; romance 

of, 352. 
Hagerstown, 221. 
Hall, Rev. Dr., 154. 
Hall, Dr. John, amount of his 

salary, 247. 
Hall, Rev. Dr. Newman, 97 : at 

the Mansion House, 260. 
Hall, Robert, 53. 
Halstead, Murat, 283. 



430 



INDEX 



Hamilton, Rev. J. Benson, 241. 

Hamilton Club, 224. 

Hamlin, Rev. Dr. T. S., at the 

funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422. 
Hampton, Governor Wade, 81. 
Hancock, John, 173. 
Handy, Moses P., 223. 
Hanna, Rev. Dr., his death, 254. 
Hanna, Senator, 414. 
Hardman, Dr., 21, his method of 

examining Dr. Talmage, 22. 
Harlan, Justice, 337. 
Harper, E. B., 224. 
Harrisburg, 396 ; intemperance, 

45 - ? bribery, 46. 
Harrison, President Benjamin, 

257- 

Harrison, Rev. Leon, 241. 

Harrison, William Henry, 1 14, 257. 

Hatch, A. S., President of the New 
York Exchange, 135. 

Hatch, Rufus, 224. 

Hawarden, 236, 357. 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 107. 

Hayes, President, 70 ; character 
of his message, 74. 

Hazlitt, William, his struggles as 
an author, 108. 

Helsingfors, 368. 

Henderson, Mr., 321. 

Hendricks, Thomas A., Vice- 
president, 158 ; his character, 
159 ; invulnerability to attacks, 
159; religious views, 160. 

Hendrix, Joseph C, 124, 241, 283. 

Hermann, 223. 

Herschel, Lord, 325 ; his illness 

and death, 326. 
Hewitt, Abram S., elected Mayor of 

New York, 188. 
Hicks-Lord case, 76. 
High Bridge, 275, 276. 
Hill, Rev. Dr. John Wesley, 396. 
Hill, Rowland, 97. 
Hill, Senator, 105. 
Hilton, Judge Henry, 116, 223. 
Holy Land, 235. 
Holyrood Palace, 59. 
Home Missionary meeting, in 

Carnegie Hall, 305. 



Howard, Joseph, 224. 

Howell, Mayor, his report on the 

condition of Brooklyn, 81. 
Hudson, 37. 
Hugo, Victor, 107. 
Hull, Isaac, 125. 

Huntington, Dr., amount of his 

salary, 247. 
Hutchinson, Dr. Joseph, 196. 
Hydrophobia, inoculations against, 

162. 

India, famine in, 298. 

Indiana, elections, 124. 

Ingersoll, Colonel Robert, 70. 

Inness, Fred, 221. 

Insomnia, sufferings from, 62. 

Iowa, prohibition in, 193. 

Ireland, Home Rule for, 173, 239. 

Irish Channel, crossing the, 391. 

Irving, Washington, 85 ; "Knicker- 
bocker," 94 5 appointed Minis- 
ter to Spain, 146. 

Isle of Wight, 389. 

Jackson, Gen. Andrew, 156. 
Jaehne, Mr., his incarceration, 175. 
Jamaica, Long Island, synodical 

trial at, 10 1. 
James, General, his reforms in the 

Post Office, 113. 
Jamestown, 339. 
Jefferson, Joseph, 332. 
Jefferson, Thomas, inaugurated, 

174- 

Jews, persecution of, in Russia, 
118 ; settle in America, 119. 

Johnson, Andrew, President, 
charges against, 157. 

Johnstown, result of the flood at, 
228. 

" Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse," 346. 
Kansas, 193 ; its age, 105 ; pro- 
hibition in, 193. 
Katrine, Loch, 356. 
Kean, Edmund, 71. 
Keeley, Dr. Leslie, 254. 
Keller, John W., 224. 



INDEX 



431 



Kennedy, Dr., 187. 

Killarney lakes, 391. 

King, Gen. Horatio C, 224, 241. 

Kingsley, Mr., 207. 

Kinsella, Thomas, 100, 130. 

Kintore, Earl of, 298, 356. 

Klondike, arrival of gold-diggers 

from, 321. 
Knox, E. M., 234. 
Knox, John, his grave, 355. 
Knox, J. Amory, 224, 234. 
Krebs, Dr., 187. 

Lafayette Avenue, railroad scheme, 
defeat of, 79. 

Lake Port, Maryland, 409. 

Lamb, Col. Albert P., 224. 

Lamb, Charles, on the adultera- 
tion of food, 131. 

Lambert, Dr., case of, 75. 

Lang, Anton, takes part in the 
Passion Play, 380. 

Langtry, Mrs., 391. 

Lansing, Rev. Dr. I. J., 283. 

Laurence Amos, 55. 

Laurier, Sir Wilfred, 325. 

Lawrence, E. H., 233. 

Lawrence, F. W., 286. 

Leadville, its age, 105 ; number of 
telephones, 105 ; vigilance com- 
mittee, 106. 

Leamington, 358. 

Lectures, fees for, 40. 

Lee, General, his invasion of Penn- 
sylvania, 38. 

Leeds, collection at, 97. 

Lennox, James, 55, 194. 

Leslie, Frank, the pioneer of 
pictorial journalism, 102. 

Lexington, 188, 275, 276. 

Liberty, statue of, 148-150. 

Lies, system of, 197. 

Lincoln, Abraham, 37 ; violation 
of his sepulchre, 161 ; his letter, 
.397- 

Lincoln, Robert, Secretary of War, 
Lind, Jenny, 14. 



Lindsay, Rev. E. P., 338. 
Liverpool, 357 ; addresses given 
at, 97. 

Locke, Commissioner of Appeals, 
107. 

Lodge, Henry Cabot, 224. 
Lomond, Loch, 355. 
London, Lord Mayor of, his ban- 
quet at the Mansion House, 260. 
Long Island, 229. 
Los Angeles, 322. 
St. Louis railway strike, 167. 
Louisiana, State of, 80. 
Low, Seth, Mayor of Brooklyn, 

121, 133- 
Lowell, James Russell, 145. 
Lowndes, Governor, 326. 
Lyle, Lady, 389. 

Macaulay, Lord, 188. 
Mackenzie, Dr., his death, 254. 
Mackey, Mrs., 261. 
Mackinaw Island, 339. 
Madison, 273. 

Magruder, Dr. G. L., 418, 420. 
Maine, outbreak in, 102. 
Malone, Rev. Father Sylvester, 
281. 

Manchester, Cavendish Chapel, 
348. 

Manderson, Senator, 256 ; his Bill 
for the arbitration of strikes, 
172. 

Mangam, Mrs. Daniel, 420. 
Manning, Daniel, his death, 200. 
Marietta, Ohio, 317. 
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 53 ; his 

epitaph, 210. 
Marriages, number of elopements, 

137- 

Martin, Mrs. Bradley, 261. 
Martin, Pauline E., 234. 
Mathews, Charles, his death, 85 ; 

story of, 85. 
Matthews, T. E., 286. 
McAdam, Judge David, 224. 
McCauley, Jerry, 136. 
McCormick, Cyrus, 194. 
McDonald, Senator, 261. 
McElroy, Dr., 187. 



432 



INDEX 



McGlynn, Father, 191. 

McKean, John, 125. 

McKinley, President, his congratu- 
lations, 284 ; election, 306 ; 
friendship with Dr. Talmage, 
330 ; assassination, 409. 

McLean, Alexander, 233. 

McLean, Andrew, 241. 

McLeod, Rev. Donald, installed 
pastor of the First Presbyterian 
Church in Washington, 341. 

Mead, W. D., 269. 

Memphis, 339. 

Mendes, Rabbi F. De Sol, 281. 
Merigens, George T., 38. 
Mershon, Rev. S. L., 57, 274. 
Mexico, 416. 
Michigan, 339, 409. 
Middlebrook, New Jersey, 1. 
Minado, 320. 

Ministers, amount of salaries, in 

the United States, 63. 
Minneapolis, 99. 
Mitchell, Dr., 120. 
Mitford, 108. 
Modjeska, Mdme., 332. 
Moliere, the comedian, 72. 
Monona Lake, 273. 
Monroe Doctrine, 304. 
Montauk Point, purchase of, 99. 
Montreal, 326. 
Moore, Charles A., 224. 
Moore, DeWitt, 39, 43. 
Morey, forgeries, 106. 
Morrisey, John, 69. 
Moscow, 374. 

Mott, Lucretia, the quakeress, 106. 
Munich, 375. 
Murphy, Mr., 207. 



Nagle, Dr., 224. 

Nansen, the explorer, 365. 

Napier, Lord, his story of a 

wounded soldier, 239. 
Nashville, 339. 

Neilson, Judge Joseph, 133, 193,204. 
New, Mrs., 261. 

New Brunswick Theological Semin- 
ary, 15. 



New Orleans, 340, 415, 418 ; 
victory, 8. 

New York, corrupt condition, 64 ; 
69 ; spread of Communism, 83 ; 
Historical Society, gift to the 
library, 109 ; Passion Play, 
attempt to present, 121 5 pool 
rooms opened, 147 ; conflagra- 
tion of 1835, 2 3 1 ? revival 
meetings, 407. 

New York University, 14. 

" New York," 258. 

Newark, 19. 

Newspaper reporter, day with a, 
21 1-220. 

Newspapers, reduction in the price, 
123. 

Newstead Abbey, 349. 
Newton, Lady, 361. 
Newton, Sir Alfred, Lord Mayor, 
361. 

Nichols, Governor, 81. 

Nicols, Rev. Dr. S. J., at the 

funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422. 
Nightingale, Florence, note from, 

359 ; receives Dr. Talmage, 360. 
North Cape, view from, of the 

Midnight Sun, 365, 366. 
North River, first steamer, 8. 
Northern Pacific Railroad Co., 126. 
j Nottingham, 260 ; Albert Hall. 

348. 

Nutting, A. J., 234. 

Oakley, Rev. Mr., 51. 
Ober-Ammergau Passion Play, 

375 ; impressions of, 375-388 5 

actors, 378. 
Ocean Grove, 408. 
" Oceanic," 391. 

Ochiltree, Colonel Tom, 261 ; at 
the Press Club, 223 . 
! Ogden, 104 

I Ohio, elections, 124; River, 276. 
Olcott, George M., 224. 
Omaha, 99,104 ; picture galleries, 
106. 

Osborne, Truman, 16. 
" Our Dead President," sermon 
on, 410. 



INDEX 



433 



Packer, Asa D., 194. 

Paine, Tom, 71. 

Palmer, A. M., 261. 

Panics, view on, 290-293. 

Paris, 60, 236 ; Exposition of 
1900, 362, 388. 

Parker, Rev. Dr. Joseph, 259 ; his 
description of Dr. Talmage's ser- 
mon, 259; congratulations, 284. 

Parkhurst, Dr., 258 ; amount of 
his salary, 247. 

Parnell, C. S., in New York, 102 ; 
triumph on his return to Eng- 
land, 163. 

Passaic River, 29. 

Pasteur, Dr., his inoculations 
against hydrophobia, 162. 

Patten, Dr., 120. 

Paxton, Dr., amount of his salary, 
247. 

Payne, Mr., his song " Home, 

Sweet Home," 108. 
Peabody, George, his will, 73. 
Peace Jubilee, a national, 43. 
Peck, General, defence of, 362. 
Penn, William, 156. 
Pennsylvania, invasion, 38 ; 

election, 124. 
Peru, war with Chili, 117. 
Peterhof, Palace of, 370. 
Peters, Barnard, 281. 
Phelps, Mr., 145. 

Philadelphia, Second Reformed 

Church of, 37. 
Phillips, Wendell, 127. 
Pierce, Dr., 369. 
Pierce, Mrs., 370. 

Pierce, President, opens the World's 

Fair, 195. 
Pierce, Senator, his Bill for a new 

city charter for Brooklyn, 78. 
Piermont, 25. 

Pilgrim Fathers, in New England, 
156. 

Pius IX., Pope, 77. 
Policies, International, lecture on, 
322. 

Polk, Mrs., her pension, 145. 
Pollock, Robert, ex-Governor, 22 ; 
report of his speech, 41. 



" Pomerania," s.s., loss of, 89. 

Pomeroy, Rev. C. S., 51. 

Pond, Major, 96. 

Poor, problem of the, 143. 

Potomac, the, 38. 

Pratt, Judge C. R., 133, 224. 

Prayer, the influence of, 148. 

Prentice, Mr., 207. 

Press Club, dinners at, 223. 

Pressly, Rev. David P., 338. 

Preston, William C, 104. 

Pretoria, capture of, 361. 

Prime, Rev. Dr., 71. 

Princeton, 301. 

Queenstown, 391. 

Railway strike, 166. 

Rainsford, Dr., amount of his 

salary, 247. 
Randall, Mr., 128. 
Raymond, Henry J., 131. 
Reed, Joseph, 166. 
Reed, Speaker, 337. 
" Rehypothication," crime of, 76. 
Reid, Dr., 120. 
Republican party, 46. 
Reynolds, Judge, 193. 
Rhode Island, 115. 
Richards, Rev. Dr., 27. 
Ridgeway, James W., 124. 
Riley, his " Universal Philosophy," 

107. 

River and Harbour Bill, 143. 
Robinson, Lincoln, 102. j 
Robinson, William E., 241, 253. 
Roche, Rev. Spencer F., 281. 
Rockport, newcable landed at, 135. 
Rockwell, Rev. J. E., 50. 
Roebling, Mr., 207. 
Roosevelt, Theodore, 224, 422. 
Roosevelt, Mrs., 422. 
Rosa, Parepa, 43. 
Roswell, Mr., 205. 
Ruskin, John, 261 ; his literary 

works, 262. 
Russia, 263 ; defeats Turkey, 77 ; 

persecution of the Jews, 118 j 

famine, 264. 



434 



INDEX 



Russia, Alexander III., Czar of, 

receives Dr. Talmage, 263-266 ; 

gift to him, 280. 
Russia, Nicholas II., Czar of, 

receives Dr. Talmage, 371. 
Russia, Czarina of, receives Mrs. 

Talmage, 371 ; her appearance, 

Russia, Dowager Empress of, 

receives Dr. Talmage, 372. 
Russia, Nicholas, Grand Duke, 264. 

Sacramento, 104 ; picture galleries, 
106. 

Sage, Russell, his loan to Brook- 
lyn Tabernacle, 268. 

Sailors, character of, 133. 

Salt Lake City, 104, 320. 

Salvation Army, meetings in 
Brooklyn, 222. 

San Antonio, 41 5. 

San Francisco, 322 ; the first 
Presbyterian Church of, 49 ; its 
age, 105 ; picture galleries, 106 ; 
amount paid by Chinese, 174. 

Sand, George, character of her 
writings, 64. 

Sanderson, driver of the stage 
coach, 11. 

Sand-storm, a Mexican, 415. 

Sanitary Protective League, organ- 
isation of, 143. 

Santa Barbara, 322. 

Saratoga, 319. 

Scenery Chapel, 97. 

Schenck, Dr. Noah Hunt, 141. 

Schieren, Major, 281. 

Schiller, the famous comedian, 72. 

" Schiller," the, sinks, 134. 

Schley, Admiral, 332, 336. 

Schroeder, Frederick A., 99, 224. 

Schuylkill River, 25 note. 

Scott, Rev. James W., 22 ; his 
kindness to Dr. Talmage, 22-24 5 
death, 24. 

Scudder, Dr., 120. 

Seattle, 321. 

Seavey, George L., 135 ; his gift to 
the library of the Historical 
Society, New York, 109. 



Seward, William H., 102 ; his 

death, 188. 
Shafter, General, 336. 
Shaftesbury, Lord, his funeral, 

155 ; last public act, 155 ; 

President of various societies, 

156. 

Shannon, Patrick, 69. 

Sharon Springs, 57. 

Sharpsburg, 221. 

Sheepshead Bay, races at, 147. 

Sheffield, 357. 

Shelby ville, 160. 

Sheridan, Mr. and Mrs., 108. 

Sherman, James, 97. 

Sherman, John, 256, 284. 

Sherman, Gen. William T., 242. 

Shields, Dr., 417 ; attends Dr. 

Talmage, 417 ; accompanies 

him home, 418. 
Siberia, 263. 
Silver Bill, passed, 80. 
Simpson, Bishop, 136. 
Simpson, Sir Herbert, 356. 
Simpson, Sir James Y., his use of 

chloroform, 207, 356. 
Skillman, Dr., 11. 
Slater, Mr., 194. 
Slocum, General, 133. 
Smith, Charles Emory, 223. 
Smith, Rev. J. Hyatt, 189; his 

life of self-sacrifice, 190. 
Smith, Mrs. Warren G., 420. 
Somerville, 3, 9. 
Soudan war, 146. 
Soulard, A. L., 268. 
Southampton, 347. 
South Carolina, 81. 
Spain, war with the United States, 

320 ; investigation into, 336. 
Speer, Dr. Samuel Thayer, 186. 
Spencer, Dr., 54. 
Spencer, Rev. W. Ichabod, 186. 
Spring, Dr. Gardiner, 54, 187. 
Spurgeon, Rev. Charles H., 253 5 

his death, 254. 
Stafford, Marshal, 241. 
Stanley, Dean, 116. 
Staten Island, 161. 



INDEX 



435 



Stead, Mr., his crusade against 

crime, 153. 
Steele, Dr., 120. 

Steele, Commissioner of stamps, 
107. 

Stephens, Alexander H., 80. 
Stevens, Mrs. Paran, 261. 
Stevens, W., 30. 
Stewart, Samuel B., 116. 
Stillman, Benjamin A., 224. 
Stockholm, Immanuel Church, 
367- 

Stone, Rev. Dr., 187. 

Stone, Governor, 337., 346. 

Storrs, Rev. R. S., pastor of the 
Church of Pilgrims, 186. 

Stranahan, J. S. T., 120, 133, 224. 

Stratford-on-Avon, 358 ; the " Red 
Horse Hotel," 97. 

Strikes, 167 ; Bill for the arbitra- 
tion of, 1 72. 

Stuart, Francis H., 234. 

Stuart, George H., 38. 

Sullivan-Ryan prize fight, 117. 

Summerfield, Dr. John, 187. 

Sunderland, Rev. Dr. Byron W., 
294, 410. 

Suydam, Rev. Dr. Howard, at the 
burial of Dr. Talmage, 422. 

Swansea, 267, 389. 

Sweden, 367. 

Swenson, Mr., 364. 

Syracuse, 35. 

Talmage, Catherine, her character, 
3 ; conversion, 5 ; covenant 
with her neighbours, 5 ; death, 6. 

Talmage, Daisy, 50 note. 

Talmage, Daniel, 10. 

Talmage, David, his Christian 
principles, 3 ; conversion, 5 ; 
mode of conducting prayer- 
meetings, 6 ; fearlessness, 7 ; 
sheriff, 7 ; scenes of his life, 8 ; 
death, 9 ; sons, 9. 

Talmage, Edith, 50 note. 

Talmage, Mrs. Eleanor, her Bio- 
graphical Sketch of Dr. Talmage, 
311 ; first meeting, 313 ; mar- 
riage, 314 ; accompanies him in 



his travels, 315, 319; attends 
his lectures, 3165 held up in 
Yellowstone Park, 320 5 received 
by the Czarina, 371 ; dedicates 
the Wood Green Wesleyan 
Church, 390. 

Talmage, Rev. Frank DeWitt, 
50 note, 420. 

Talmage, Rev. Goyn, 9. 

Talmage, Rev. James R., 9. 

Talmage, Jehiel, his conversion, 5. 

Talmage, Jessie, 25 note. 

Talmage, Rev. John Van Nest, 9 5 
missionary at Amoy, 19 ; de- 
votion to the Chinese, 91 ; 
death, 91; reticence, 92 ; work, 
93- 

Talmage, Mrs. Mary, 25 note. 
Talmage, Maud, 50 note, 346, 

355, 420. 

Talmage, May, 50 note, 235. 

Talmage, Mrs. Susan, 50 note, 235. 

Talmage, Thomas DeWitt, his 
birth, 1 ; ancestors, 2 ; father, 
3 ; mother, 3 ; the family 
Bible, 3 ; conversion of his 
grand-parents and parents, 4 ; 
home, 9 ; childhood, 10 ; early 
religious tendencies, 10 ; at New 
York University, 14; New 
Brunswick Theological Semin- 
ary, 19; conversion, 16; first 
sermon, 19 ; ordination, 21-23 ; 
pastorate at Belleville, 25 ; 
marriage, 25 note ; children, 25 
note, 50 note ; his first baptism, 
26 ; first pastoral visitation, 
27 ; first funeral, 29 ; pastorate 
at Syracuse, 35 ; first literary 
lecture, 36 ; call to Philadelphia, 
37 ; amounts received for his 
lectures, 40, 96 ; at the National 
peace jubilee, 43 ; his fear of 
indolence, 48 ; ministerial ball 
club, 49 5 second marriage, 50 
note ; call to Brooklyn, 50 ; 
installed, 51 ; charges against, 
51, 58, 94; character of his 
sermons, 53, 58, 315, 323, 395 ; 
establishes the first Brooklyn 



436 INDEX 



Tabernacle, 55; vacations at East 
Hampton, 57, 274, 338, 408; 
visits to Europe, 59, 153, 258, 
346 ; impressions on hearing 
the organ at Freyburg, 59 ; 
meeting with Dr. John Brown, 
60 ; in Paris, 60, 362, 388 ; ser- 
mons, 62, 220, 273, 286, 290, 

296, 323,336, 348,356,358,359, 
389, 396, 410-412 ; on the size 
of the heavenly Jerusalem, 66 ; 
his opinion of Church fairs, 72 ; 
lecturing tours, 80, 84, 143, 159, 

2 97, 326, 339, 348, 405, 4o8; 
opposes the effort to exclude 
the Chinese, 90 ; death of his 
brother John, 91 ; Gospel meet- 
ings, 96, 289 ; visits to the house 
of T. Carlyle, 97 ; trip to the 
West, 104, 172, 189; views on 
betting, 147 5 on education, 152; 
his numerous letters, 153-155 ; 
on the demands of Society, 169- 
171 ; views on war, 181 ; at 
Lexington, 188 ; protest against 
the Gambling Pool Bill, 194 ; 
proposal of a World's Fair, 195 ; 
on execution by electricity, 198 j 
advocates free trade, 200 5 
advice on books, 202-204 ; a 
day with a newspaper reporter ; 
212-220; his study, 212, 328; 
correspondence, 213-215 ; visi- 
tors, 215-218 ; appearance, 218, 
343 5 pastoral visit, 219 5 chap- 
lain of the " Old Thirteenth " 
Regiment, 221 ; his income, 221, 
225, 246 ; dinners at the Press 
Club, 223 ; at the Hamilton 
Club, 224 5 restlessness, 226 5 
mode of life, 226, 329 ; squib on, 
228 5 on the result of the flood 
at Johnstown, 228 ; on the 
lessons learnt from conflagra- 
tions, 231 ; appeal for funds, 
232; consecration of the ground, 

234 ; his visit to the Holy Land, 

235 ; attack of influenza, 236 ; 
visit to Mr. Gladstone, 236-241 ; 
ovation on his return home, 241 ; 



on the revision of Creeds, 244 ; 
lays the corner stone, 245 ; 
editor of periodicals, 245, 398 ; 
critics, 246 ; shaves his whiskers, 
248 5 on the Higher Criticism 
of the Bible, 253 ; preaching 
tours in England, 258, 267 ; 
views on dreaming, 258 5 ser- 
mons in the City Temple, 259 ; 
at Nottingham, 260 ; at the 
Mansion House, 260, 361 ; visits 
John Ruskin, 261 ; reception in 
Russia, 263 ; audience of the 
Czar Alexander, 263-266 ; dona- 
tion of his salary, 269 ; resigna- 
tion, 270, 293, 333; voyages 
across the ocean, 275, 346 5 visit 
to Governor Blackburn, 275- 
279 ; meeting with Senator 
Beck, 276 ; presentation of a 
gold tea-service, 280 ; 25th 
anniversary of his pastorate, 
280-283 ; his speech, 282 ; mes- 
sages of congratulation, 284 ; 
journey round the world, 288 ; 
" The Earth Girdled," 289 ; his 
views on panics, 290-293 ; ac- 
cepts the call to Washington, 
294-296 ; installed, 297 ; recep- 
tion at the White House, 297 5 
intercourse with Mr. and Mrs. 
Cleveland, 300-306 ; interview 
with Major McKinley, 307 ; his 
characteristics, 312, 315, 317, 
343, 402-406 ; magnetic in- 
fluence, 313 ; third marriage, 
3 14;^ cheerfulness, 315, 324; 
mode of travelling, 315 ; his 
lectures, 316, 348, 396 ; love^of 
flowers, 318 ; in Yellowstone 
Park, 320'; lecture on Interna- 
tional Policies, 322 ;\ his sense 
of duty, 323 ; methodical habits, 
329 ; friendship with President 
McKinley, 330 ; publication of 
his sermons, 334, 398 ; his 
dinner parties, 337 5 at Due 
West, 338 ; love of music, 344 ; 
views on the Boer War, 347 ; 
visits Newstead Abbey, 349 ; 



INDEX 437 



Haddon Hall, 352 ; Chatsworth, 
353 ; Scotland, 355-357 ; Haw- 
arden, 357; "The American 
Spurgeon," 358 ; his power as 
an orator, 358 ; interview with 
Florence Nightingale, 360 ; at 
Copenhagen, 363 ; received by 
the Crown Prince of Denmark, 
364 ; ascends North Cape, 366 ; 
preaches in Stockholm, 367 ; 
at St. Petersburg, 368 5 received 
by the Czar Nicholas, 371 ; the 
Dowager Empress, 372 5 at 
Berlin, 374 5 his impressions of 
the Passion Play, 375-388 ; at 
Baden-baden, 388 ; preaches in 
John Wesley's Chapel, 3885 in 
Ireland, 391 ; return to Amer- 
ica, 391 ; his vigour and en- 
thusiasm for his work, 393 ; wel- 
come at Brooklyn, 397 ; style 
of his writings, 399 ; personal 
mail, 399 ; simple tastes, 400 ; 
libraries, 401 5 reverence for the 
Bible, 401 ; sense of humour, 
403 ; will power, 403 ; perse- 
verance, 403-405 ; eulogy on 
Queen Victoria, 406 5 inaugur- 
ates Revival meetings, 407 ; his 
last sermon, 410-412 5 in a rail- 
way accident, 414 ; in Mexico, 
416 ; audience with President 
Diaz, 417 5 his illness, 417-420 5 
journey home, 418 ; death, 420 ; 
funeral service, 421 ; burial, 
422 ; tributes to, 422 ; his 
" Celestial Dream," 423. 

Tappen, Arthur, 56. 

Tariff Reform question, 128, 255 ; 
protective, 200. 

Taylor, Alfred, 179. 

Taylor, Bayard, his career, 90 ; 
number of his books, 90 ; death, 
90. 

Taylor, Rev. Dr. Benjamin C, 25. 

Taylor, Robert, 179. 

Taylor, Dr. William M., amount 

of his salary, 247. 
Taylor, Za chary, 114. 
Tenney, Judge, 94. 



Tennyson, Lord, 156. 
Terhune, Rev. E. P., 241. 
Thomas, Capt., heroism of, 134. 
Thomasville, 414 ; accident at, 
414. 

Thompson, Dr. C. C, amount of 
his salary, 247. 

Thompson, Rev. Charles L., 283. 

Thompson, Mr., Secretary of the 
Navy, 404. 

Thurber, Frank B., private secre- 
tary to President Cleveland, 224, 

.303, 3°5- 

Tierney, Judge, 133. 

Tolstoi, Count, 263. 

Tracey, General, 133, 283. 

Trenton, intemperance, 45 ; bri- 
bery, 46. 

Trondhjem, 365. 

Tucker, Dr. Harrison A., 233. 

Turkey, defeated by Russia, 77. 

Tyler, Mrs., her pension, 145. 

Tyng, Rev. Stephen H., 62 ; his 
sufferings from insomnia, 62. 

" Uncle John's Place," 9. 

United States, the Civil War, 38 ; 
result, 42, 74; intemperance, 44; 
bribery, 45, 165-167 ; salaries 
of ministers, 63 ; spread of com- 
munism, 83 ; fever for spending 
money, 83 ; predictions of dis- 
aster in 1878, 88 ; legislative 
effort to exclude the Chinese, 
90 ; commercial frauds, 93 ; paci- 
fication of North and South, 113; 
purchase of grain, 103 ; surplus 
for export, 103 ; blockade, 103 ; 
republican candidates for the 
Presidency, 104 ; quality of the 
new Senators, 109 ; interfer- 
ence in foreign affairs, 117; 
celebration of centennials, 124 ; 
adulteration of food, 131; num- 
ber of elopements, 137 ; pro- 
blem of the poor, 143 ; practice 
of betting, 147 ; demands of 
Society, 1 69-1 71 ; the working 
people, 171 ; number of wed- 
dings, 1765 sports, 177; mania 



4 

/ 



438 INDEX 



for rebuilding, 178 ; fashions, 
183; slaughter of birds, 184; 
system of taxation, 197 ; of lies, 
197 ; war with Spain, 320. 
Unrequited services, sermon on, 
356, 359- 

Van Buren, cartoons of, 175. 
Vanderbilt, Cornelius, his will, 73. 

161 5 gift to a medical institute, 

141 ; death, 160 ; protection of 

his remains, 161. 
Vanderbilt, Mrs., her remedy 

against sea-sickness, 347. 
Van Dyke, Rev. Dr. Henry 51, 

4I3- 

Van Nest, John, 10. 
Van Rensselaer, Mr. and Mrs., 30. 
Van Vranken, Rev. Dr., 18. 
Vicksburg, victory at, 38. 
Victoria, Queen, character of her 

reign, 78 ; first cablegram, 250 ; 

her death, 406. 
Vienna, 375. 
Villard, Henry, 126. 
Vinton, Rev. Dr., 187. 
Volapiik, the study of, 205. 
Vredenburgh, John, 17. 

Wadsworth, Rev. Charles, 48. 
Wales, Prince of, at Chatsworth, 
354- 

Walker, Dr. Mary, her appearance, 
331. 

Wall Street, failure of 1884, 134. 

Wallace, William Copeland, 224. 

Walsh, Senator, 283. 

Ward, Ferdinand, 134. 

Ward, Dr. Samuel, 19, 30. 

Warner, B. H., 335. 

Wars, number of, in 1885, 146 ; 

cost, 158; character, 181. 
Warsaw, 374. 

Washington, intemperance, 45 ; 
bribery, 46 ; Silver Bill passed, 
80 ; number of appropriation 
Bills, 117 ; improvements, 255 ; 
First Presbyterian Church at, 



294 ; library presented to, 
335 ; Pan-Presbyterian Coun- 
cil, 341. 

Washington, George, 173 ; his 
burial, 8. 

Watterson, Henry, 255. 

Webb, James Watson, 131. 

Webster, Daniel, 86, 104 ; monu- 
ment erected to, 128 ; his death, 
188. 

Webster, Lily, her baptism, 26. 
Webster, Noah, his dictionary, 76, 
107. 

Weed, Thurlow, 131. 
Wesley, John, 52 ; caricatures of, 
53- 

Westminster Hall, dynamite out- 
rage, 142. 
Wheeler, General, 336. 
White, Chief Justice, 208. 
White, Doc, 224. 
White, Henry Kirke, 258. 
White, Mr., 361. 

Whitefield, George, caricature of 

his preaching, 52. 
Whitney, ex-Mayor, 241. 
Whittemore, Miss Susan C, her 

marriage, 50 note. 
Whittier, John Greenleaf, 251 ; 

poem, 252. 
Wilber, Mark D., 241. 
Wilder, Marshall P., 346. 
Williams, General and Mrs., 261. 
Williams, William B., 224. 
Wills, number of disputes over, 

142. 

Wilson, Henry, his death, 188. 
Windom, Secretary, 113. 
Winslow, Hon. John, 224, 281. 
Wisconsin, 409. 

Witherspoon, Dr., advice from, 
154. 

Wolfe, Miss, 55 ; her bequest to 

the Church, 194. 
Wood Green Wesleyan Church, 

dedication of, 390. 
Wood, John, 233, 269. 
Woodford, Gen. Stewart L., 133, 

224. 



R1OT9S0 



INDEX 



439 



Woodruff, T. L., 224. 
Woodward, Mr., 157. 
World's Fair, 195. 
Wrench, Dr., 351, 353. 
Wright, Silas, 102. 
Wiirtternberg, 374. 
Wycoff, Mrs. Clarence, 420. 
Wyndham, Mr., 368. 



Yellow fever, scourge of, 87. 
Yellowstone Park, 320. 

Zanesville, 317. 

Zwink, John, takes part in the 
Passion Play, 380 ; character 
of his acting, 381. 



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